PAST MERIDIAl^ 



BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNET. 



Here, at Earth's banquet, he's the wisest guest 
Who gladly takes whate'er his God doth send, 
Keeping each instrument of joy in tune 
That giveth fitness for the choir of Heaven. 



^jetflitb (Bhitxon* 



^r/j' 



HAETFORD, COXK. 

PUBLISHED BY F. A. BROWN. 

1857. 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 

F. A. BROWN, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Connecticut. 



STEREOTYPED BY ■* * . ^k 

RICHARD H. HOBBS, 'w •• 
HARTFORD, CONN. 



PREFACE 



It is not considered polite to ask people their 
age, after the bloom of youth has departed. I would 
not willingly violate the rules of decorum, or tempt 
any one to hide the foot-prints of Time, as the Indian 
warrior covers his track with leaves. Making no 
invidious inquiry, let me simply whisper in the ear 
of those who have achieved more than half life's 
journey, that this book is for them. It is their own 
exclusive property. It is devoted heart and hand to 
their interests. Whoever is found reading it, may 
be suspected to have attained the same ripe age. 

It is, therefore, a kind of confidential affair 
between me and my compeers — we, whose faces 
are toward the setting sun. To all such, I offer 
the right hand of fellowship. We are in the same 
catagory — a joint stock concern that admits no young 



iV PREFACE. 

partners. Every camp has its watch -word. E very- 
state its history. Every profession its pohcy. And 
have not wje ours? Aye, and our rights too? Shall 
we not stand for them? Come let us see. 

L. H. S. 
Hartford, Conn. 



TO 

GEORGE PEABODY, ESQ., 

OF LONDON, 

€n inljnin lintl; tin I. 3M's mt |V 3il's 



OF HIS NATIVE LAND 



TURN ^'ITJr PRIDE AXD PLEASURE, 



THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 



BY THE AUTHOR 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

Preface, • 3 

The a. M's and P. M's, 9 

Old, 18 

Reporters, 29 

The Custody of Knowledgf:, 37 

The Beauty of Age, 49 

Am, 62 

Domestic Anniversaries, 78 

Patriotic Recollections, 99 

Accomplishments, 113 

Privileges of Age, 126 

Longevity and Intellectual Labor, 143 

Aged Divines, 172 

Cheerful Old Women, 243 

Westering Sunbeams, 274 

About Money, 299 

The Amenities, 317 

The Pleasures of Winter, 327 

A New Existence, 333 



CHAPTER I. 



" Ah ! what concerns it him whose way 

Lies upward to the immortal dead, 
That a few hairs are turning gray ? 

Or one more year of Hfe hath fled ? 
Swift years ! still teach us how to bear, 

To feel, to act, with strength and skill, 
To reason wisely, nobly dare. 

Then speed your courses as ye will : 
"When life's meridian toils are done. 

How calm, how rich the twilight glow, 
The morning twilight of a sun 

That shines not here on things below." 

Professor Norton. 

The equinoctial of human life, though vague- 
ly defined, is not an imaginary line. Arithmeti- 
cally speaking, thirty-five, as predicated on the 
allotted span of seventy years, is the true 



10 PASTI^IERIDIAX. 

zenith. Yet life's latitude can not be computed 
with such exactness. Of Cuvier, it was said 
at sixty, that he was but in the climax of his 
scientific powers; and Klopstock, at eighty, 
bore the epithet of '' the youth forever." 

These instances are, indeed, but excep- 
tions, and it must be, doubtless, admitted that 
the meridian of life is fully passed at fifty. It 
would be an exceedingly liberal construction to 
extend to sixty, the dividing line between the 
ante and the post-meridian people. Bounda- 
ries may diverge, here and there, but the charac- 
teristics and possessions of those on each 
side of this debatable ground are sufficiently 
distinct. 

With the A. M.'s, are the beauty and the 
vigor, and the ambition of this present world. 
Of these distinctions they are aware and tena- 
cious. 

Yet, the P. M.'s are not utterly cyphers. 
This, I trust, in due time to show. If with 
them, there is a less inflated hope, there should 
be a more rational happiness; for they have 
winnowed the chaff from the wheat, and 



THE A. M.'S AND THE P. M.'S. 11 

tested both what is worth pursuing, and worth 
possessing. 

Is there any antagonism between these par- 
ties ? Is one disposed to monopoHze, and the 
other to consider itself depreciated? Does one 
complain that 

"Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage?" 

and the other morosely withdraw from the 
battle of life, and its reciprocities? We will 
not admit any just ground for such estrange- 
ment. Rather are they differing tenses of the 
same verb, the verb " to love,^^ whose root is 
in the blessed principle that binds the uni- 
verse together. Children are they of the 
morning and of the evening, living on the 
bounty of one common Father, and lighted by 
the beams of the same rising and setting sun, 
to His home in Heaven. 

The duties that devolve on the P. M.'s are 
not often as clearly evident, or as strongly 
enforced as those which appertain to their pre- 
decessors. One comprise the planting, the 
other the garnering process. In agriculture, the 



12 PAST MERIDIAN. 

necessity of preparing the soil, and sowing right 
seed, is apparent and imperative. The requisi- 
tions to remove weeds, and destroy noxious in- 
sects, are equally obvious. But when the objects 
of culture approach their final maturity, vigilance 
declines. Still, the careful gardener will give 
the perfecting peach the shelter of a wall, or 
the clustering grape a prop, that it may better 
meet the sunbeam. The laborer knows that 
the golden sheaf needs the vertic sun, and the 
boy seeks not his nuts in the forest, till the frost 
opens their sheath. 

So, in this our mortal life, though the toils that 
fit for action, are more obvious and pressings 
yet the responsibilities of its period of repose, 
deserve frequent and distinct contemplation. 
For that richest fruit of the Creator, the sonl of 
man, that which survives, when all other w^orks 
of creation perish, goes on ripening and ripening 
as long as it hangs in this garden of time, 
and needs both earthly and divine aid to bring 
it happily to the eternal harvest. 

It has been said that the ethics of age have 
been less elaborately stated than those of youth 



THE A . M . ' S A X D THE P . M . ' S . 13 

or maturity. Still, the most perfect philosophy, 
the most sublime precepts, fail, without the ex- 
ample of a good life. The morality of Socra- 
tes and Seneca, was beautiful, but their times 
furnished no illustrations. The code of Con- 
fucius was fine, but lacked vitality. How much 
more impressive is the theory of Addison, he 
who was enabled to say at last, '' Come see in 
what peace a Christian can die." 

" I know of but one way of fortifying the mind against gloomy 
presages and terrors, and that is, by securing the friendship of 
that Being who disposes of all events, and governs futurity. He 
sees at one view, the whole thread of my existence, not only that 
part of it which I have already passed through, but that which 
runs forward into the depths of eternity. When I lie down to 
sleep, I recommend myself to His care ; when I awake I give my- 
self up to His direction. Amidst all the evils that threaten me, 
I will look up to Him for help, and question not but He will 
avert them, or turn them to my advantage. Though I know 
lieither the time, nor the manner of the death that I am to die, I 
am not at all solicitous about it, because I am sure that he knows 
them both, and that He will not fail to support and comfort me 
under them." 

A serenity thus founded and sustained, pro- 
motes the ripening of the soul's best fruits. 
Earthly perturbations check their full develop- 

2 



14 FAST MERIDIAN. 

ment, and may cause them to fall before theii 
time. To pass throxigh God's world unrecon- 
ciled, or in hostility to Him. is fearful arrogance 
To estrani^ tk>m His service the powers that 
He has given, or the affections that He claims 
is treason heightened by ingratitude. 

If this has been the case with any of us. let 
us lay aside the weapons of our warfare. Wlien 
we lirst entered this pilgrimage, many paths 
alhired us, each bright with flower?, and birds of 
bopeL S<Mne we followed, till :Lf :^owers faded 
and die soi^ ceased. Odiers we entered, and 
^•^ ?~~^ "^timced- fJiMtincr (mqIt thiHus and pitfalls. 
N — - aciiii^ the dose of our jobation, 

li stTH^hr sc^kats us. one prtHm- 
^ri.: : : r^ concentrates oar desires- a ba{^T 
e:ir- '^ hoosenol made with hands !" 

fcH- 

dieDi- 

rhe 



rzz A.3f.5 AVI rzz ? . k. s. lo 

be with tks, until tae last, bright drop of tlis 
brief existence shall be eihaled 

Those who have completed half a centnrr. if 
not Hterallv ntmibered among the aged, hare 
yet reached a period of great gravitT and impor- 
tance. They should haye gained an ascent 
which discloses mnch of earth's yanity. They 
haye passed life's meridian- and jomney hence- 
forth toward the gates of the west. Those 
who like tutelary spirits presided oyer their ear- 
hest years, and rejoiced in their blossoming 
promise, haye long since ceased those ministra- 
tions, or departed to their reward. For the re- 
sponsibilities that remain, they must gird them- 
selyes. and help to gird others. To a future 
generation they should pay the debt which they 
haye incurred from the past. 

Time has also to them, a heightened and an 
increasing yalue. For should they reach three- 
score and ten. which it is computed that only 
fiye in one hundred of our race attain, or eyen 
far exceed the prescribed date of man. eyery 
year is said to gather fieetness as it approaches 
its goal. T::e rapidity of the tide of time has 



16 PAST MERIDIAN. 

been well depicted by one of our own eloquent 
lecturers, the Rev. Henry Giles. 

" There is no Gibeon in life, upon which we can rest for a 
moment, the morning or the noontide ; there is no Ajalon in our 
age, whereon we can force the moonlight to repose beyond its 
appointed hour. We can not rekindle the morning beams of 
childhood ; we can not recall the noontide glory of youth ; we 
can not bring back the perfect day of maturity ; we can not fix the 
evening rays of age, in the shadowy horizon ; but we can cher- 
ish that goodness which is the sweetness of childhood, the joy 
of youth, the strength of maturity, the honor of old age, and the 
bUss of saints." 

The aids of philosophy to promote the com- 
fort and dignity of advancing age have been 
often given, in the form of beautiful rules, or 
striking aphorisms. Yet these will be found 
frail, or rootless, unless the soul is at peace with 
itself and with its Maker. ''I can scarcely 
think that man in his right mind " said the elo- 
quent Cicero, " who is destitute of religion." 

It may be, that God's gift of life in its more 
protracted periods, is by certain classes of ob- 
servers, undervalued, or vilified. Should it be 
our lot to reach any of those periods, may we 
do justice to the Giver's goodness. May we so 



THE A. M.'S AND THE P. M.'S. 17 

cooperate with all heavenly influences, so con- 
form our conduct to the precepts of the Gospel, 
so trust in our Redeemer, that 

"What is dark 
In us, He may illumine ; what is weak, 
Raise and support." 

Thus, striving to prove that age, though 
deemed so unlovely, can be happy and holy, 
may we find the last note of its hymn sweetly 
harmonizino^ with the ano^els' welcome, " Come 
up hither ! " 



CHAPTER II. 



©ID. 

" My Mariners ! 
Souls that have toil'd and wrought and felt with me, 
That ever with a simple welcome took 
The thunder or the sunshine, and oppos'd 
Free hearts, fi'ee foreheads, you and I are old. 
Yet age hath still his honor and his joy." 

Tenntson. 

Old! Can you remember how you felt, 
when that adjective was first coupled with your 
name ? Perhaps your milliner in fitting a new 
hat, chanced to remark, that was a ''becoming 
fashion for an old lady; " or some coachman, 
by way of recommending his carriage, might 
have added, it was remarkably easy for an ''old 
gentleman to get in and out of" 

Old, indeed ! How officious and rude these 
common people are ! Whereupon, you have 



OLD. 19 

consulted your mirror, and been still more 
indignant at their stupidity. 

But you may have been more gently helped 
along to this conclusion, by the circumstance 
of paternity. Old Mr. and Mrs., set in apposi- 
tion with young Mr. and Mrs., lose much of 
their discordance, and become familiar house- 
hold words. The satisfaction of hearing your 
eldest darling thus distinguished, has softened 
the bitterness of your own unflattering cogno- 
men. Possibly, you have been moved mag- 
nanimously to exclaim, with the sententious 
Ossian, "Let the name of Morni be forgotten 
among the people, if they will only say, behold 
the father of Gaul." 

Still, it is hard to have a quietus suddenly 
put upon long-cherished hopes and vanities. 
''The baby shall not be named after me," said 
a young parent of his flrst-born, " for it will be 
old John and young John, while I am yet in my 
prime." ''I wish my son had not taken it into 
his head to marry so early," said a lady in a 
remarkably fine state of preservation ; " for 
now, I suppose, it must be old Madam, and 



20 p A s T :\r E R I D I A N. 

young Madam." The unmarried, whose recol- 
lections can bisect a century, are prone to be 
annoyed at the disposition to pry into dates, 
and are sure that no well-bred person would be 
guilty of such absurd curiosity. 

Yet, to veil the traces of time, and put family 
records out of the way, are of little avail. 
There will be here and there, a memory stub- 
bornly tenacious of chronological matters, and. 
whoever labors to conceal his proper date, will 
usually find some Argus ready to watch over 
and reveal it. 

But, after all ! what is there so frightful in 
this little Saxon word old ? This collocation 
of three innocent letters, why do they thrill 
the hearts of so many fair women and brave 
men, with terror and aversion ? 

Is everything that is old deterioated ? What 
do you think of old wine ? We can not, indeed, 
say quite as much about that, in these temper- 
ance times, as Anacreon did. But I've always 
understood, when physicians recommended its 
tonic or restorative powers in medicine, it was 
the old, and not the nejv. Ask the epicure to 



OLD. 21 

partake of new cheese. Saith he not, ''the old 
is better." Does any one question the correct- 
ness of his taste ? What do you say of an old 
friend, that best cordial of Hfe ? Blessings on 
his smile, and on the hearty grasp of his hand. 
What if he does come, leaning on his staff? 
There is no winter in his heart. He was 
brought up in times when friendship was more 
than a name. 

'" The vine produces more grapes when it is 
young," says Bacon, ''but better gi^apes for 
wine, when it is old, because its juices are more 
perfectly concocted." Very true, no doubt. A 
wise man, was my Lord Bacon. We see every- 
thinor is not worse for beinof old. 

Is it worth while to be so much shocked at 
the circumstance of becoming old? Is it a 
mark of excommunication from our race ? On 
the contrary, we have a chance of finding some 
very good company. 

So then, we to whom thrice twenty years, 
each with its four full seasons, fairly counted 
out, pressed together, and running over, have 
been given, will no longer resist the epithet, 



22 PAST MERIDIAN. 

old. ''To this complexion we have come at 
last." We will not be ashamed of it. It is 
better to be old, than to be wicked. 

Let us draw nearer together. I hold that 
we are not a despisable body. Similarity of 
position, gives community of interest. Have 
we not something to say, that others need not 
hear ? We'll say it in this book. 

And first, I would whisper a proposition, that 
we depend not too much on sympathy from the 
young. Those who earnestly demand that com- 
modity, having outlived their early associates, 
will stand a chance of being numbered among 
the repiners of old, ^' sitting in the market-place, 
and calling unto their fellows, we have piped 
unto you, and ye have not danced, we have 
mourned unto you and ye have not lamented." 

Secondly, let us search after bright things, in 
the world, and among its people. " Every year 
of my life," says Cecil, "I grow more con- 
vinced that it is wisest and best to fix our atten- 
tion on the beautiful and the good, and dwell 
as little as possible on the dark and the base." 

Yet it is said that the past-meridians are 



OLD. 23 

prone to be querulous, dissatisfied, and dealers 
in complaints. I think I have heard a few of 
these. Supposing we should examine them 

" The world is not what it used to he."" No. 
It is in a state of palpable progress. It has 
thrown off its seven-mile boots, and travels by 
steam. Those who plod after it in theh an- 
tique, lumbering stage-coaches, fail to keep in 
sight the smoke of its engine. We can not 
overtake it, and it will not stay for us. The 
world is in a different phase of action. It 
pleads guilty to this accusation. What next ? 

" We do not receive the respect that was once 
paid to ager Perhaps we expect too much. 
Is not something due from us ? We think the 
young neglect us. Do we not owe something 
to the young ourselves ? Those who linger at 
a banquet after others are gone, should take 
especial pains to make themselves agreeable. 
If we find less courtesy than we wish, let us 
show more. It becomes us to be very meek 
and patient, to make amends for our long enter- 
tainment at life's board. ^' I had a beautiful 
dream," said a bright boy. ''I thought we 



24 PAST MERIDIAN. 

children were all in heaven, and so happy. By 
and by, grandfather came in frowning, and say- 
ing, as he always does, ^ Can't these children 
stop their noise ? ' So we all ran away." 

" People are tired of us.^^ It may be so. 
The guest who tarries late, is sometimes counted 
intrusive or burdensome. Toward those w^ho 
have long retained coveted honors or emolu- 
ments, there is a natural impatience for rever- 
sion. " That old lawyer has stood first at the 
bar, long enough," says the younger aspirant. 
"That old physician gets all the practice; we 
young doctors may starve." " That old author 
has been the favorite of the public an unreason- 
able time ; the rest of us want a fair chance." 
The monopoly of wealth is equally hazardous, 
though expectant heirs may be less frank in 
their expression of impatience. 

The resignation at the departure of the aged 
and distinguished, can be readily understood. 
Allusions to the majority of the early sum- 
moned, may be sometimes significant. '^ Those 
whom the gods love, die young," said a pagan. 
In an age when all slow movements are 



OLD. 25 

unpopular, speed in departure may possibly be 
counted among the graces ; and in a republic, 
a desire for the equalization of honors, is nei- 
ther peculiar nor reprehensible. 

"We are not in good Uealtlir Very likely. 
It would be remarkable if we were. We 
could not expect to wear the world's harness 
so many years, up hill, and down hill, without 
some chafing. It would be a wonder if none 
of our senses were enfeebled. They have 
served us a long time. Let us be thankful 
for the period in which we have seen clearly, 
heard quickly, and moved nimbly. Many mys- 
terious springs, and intricate chords, and deli- 
cate humors, have been kept in order to this 
end. We will praise the Architect of such 
wonderful mechanism, that it has so well served 
us, and that He has seen fit so long to keep the 
" pitcher from being broken at the fountain, or 
the wheel at the cistern." 

" Our early friends have departed,^' Ah ! 

there is sadness in that sound. But on this 

tenure we commenced our earthly journey. 

They were to go from us, or we from them. 

3 



25 PAST MERIDIAN. 

We linger in the deserted hall, and ought not 
to marvel that its flowers droop, and its lamps 
wane, or are extinguished. Yet our blessed 
ones, lost for a time on earth, are they not to be 
found in heaven? Only a httle in advance of 
us, have they forded the dark river. See we 
not their white garments glitter from the oppo- 
site shore? Does not their smile inspire us 
with courage ourselves to launch away ? We 
go not to a stranger's land. Is not that glorious 
clime of our hope, endeared by the thought that 
so many of those whom we best lovedhere, await 
us there ? that the hands which we here pressed 
so fondly, shall renew the love-ties, which death 
for a moment sundered ? that those voices which 
have never ceased to hnger in our hearts as a 
treasured melody, shall be the first to welcome 
us to the society of an " innumerable company 
of angels, and to the spirits of the just made 
perfect?" 

Whoever persists in complaining of this 
mortal life, virtually admits that he desires 
another. Are we ready for an untried exist- 
ence ? ready at a moment's warning to launch 



OLD. 27 

away, and return no more ? ready for its atmos- 
phere and service of love ? 

If any preparation for this change of chme is 
incomplete, let us address ourselves fervently 
to the work, without loss of time or energy, in 
murmuring. We might, indeed, from loneliness 
and morbidness, multiply complaints without 
end. The habit might grow with indulgence, 
till every breath became a claim for sympathy, 
or an objurgation if it were withheld. 

But cui bono 1 Have not others infirmities 
and troubles as well as ourselves ? Why add 
to their load? Would it not be better to take a 
part of theirs? "Bear ye one another's bur- 
dens, and so fulfill the law of Christ." It hath 
been well said that '' murmuring is a black gar- 
ment, and becometh none so ill as saints." 

Oh friends ! let us not lose our interest in 
life's blessings, because we have so long en- 
joyed our share of them. Rather, as an elo- 
quent writer of our own has said, will we 
'' arise, and throw open a window in our hearts, 
and let in the tone of the bird, and the breath 
of the violet." We will not permit that bright 



28 PAST MERIDIAN. 

heart-window to be sealed, nor the hand, 
through our own inertness, to become paralyzed, 
while genial nature still spreads her charms 
around us, and invites us to rejoice in them, and 
in the God who o^ave them. 



CHAPTEK III. 



*' Gather earth's glory and bloom within, 
That the soul may be brighter when youth is past." 

Mrs. Osgood. 

'' The senses," says Lord Bacon, " are report- 
ers to the mind." No wonder that they should 
get wearied with taking evidence, when the 
case is kept before the court some three or 
fourscore years. It is only surprising that their 
declension should not be expected. 

Various expedients have the ingenuity of man 
devised, to strengthen their weakness, or supply 
their loss. The spectacle-maker furnishes 
eyes, and the dentist teeth. The worshipful 
fraternity of wig-fanciers, cover bald temples 
with hair, to any desired pattern or hue. The 
crutch-vender, and the cork-worker, do their 

3* 



30 PASTMERIDIAN. 

best to aid diseased locomotion. The tiny, 
curving trumpet, promises to stir the dull tym- 
panum. 

Yet, can any human power revivify the 
defunct ear ? If sound hath died in its myste- 
rious temple, is there a resurrection, a second 
life ? Among the senses, that of hearing is 
prone to be the most frequently impaired, and 
when lost, to awaken the least sympathy. The 
hand is involuntarily stretched to lead the blind, 
or to give a seat to the lame. But, at the 
approach of the deaf, there is a flight, or with 
those who remain a sense of labor. No long- 
conversations can be anticipated, save with the 
long-suffering. Deafness, more than other 
infirmities, repels intercourse, and cuts the 
links that bind man to society. 

Has our ear grown w^eary? It has heard 
many discords in its day, without a doubt. 
The nerves, its ambassadors, may need repose. 
It is true that we are thus prevented from ren- 
dering ourselves agreeable in society. But, 
perhaps, when we were there, we did not do or 
receive any great amount of good. Possibly, 



REPORTERS. 31 

our oral contributions to knowledge may not be 
much missed, and meditation may be as serv- 
iceable to us as the taking in of new supplies. 
It may be our true wisdom to withdraw from 
the traffic of words, and cultivate a more thor- 
ough acquaintance with our own hearts, and 
our hearts' true friends, the angels. Perchance 
we have lingered long enough among earth's 
broken tones, and are called to reserve our list- 
ening powers for the melodies of heaven. 

The eye, that keeps so fresh our blessed 
communion with nature, has that become dim ? 
Are those who '' look out at the windows, dark- 
ened? " Must the world of books be in a great 
measure closed to us, or perhaps, the dear faces 
of friends shrouded ? Then, the soul's pictures 
gather clearness, and memory walks in halls 
where is perpetual light. Thought concen- 
trates itself, and makes its work more perfect. 
Should we have had the Iliad of Homer, or the 
greater poems of Milton, or the histories of 
Prescott, if the outer eye had not been 
" quench'd by drop serene," and the flashing of 
the world's torches and flambeaux shut out from 



82 PAST MERIDIAN. 

the mind's sanctuary ? Hear the brave, bhnd 
old poet, 

"So much the rather, thou Celestial Light, 
Shine inward, and the soul thro' all her powers 
Irradiate." 

Good and faithful servants have the reporting 
senses been to us. Year after year have they 
spread for us the charms of nature, and brought 
us the music of the living world, and the odor 
of the rose, and the thrill of the love-kiss, and 
the pleasure draw^n from the essences of earth's 
fruits, and from that inferior creation w^hich 
w^as yielded to man's dominion, that the nutri- 
ment of their life might sustain his own. If 
any of these sentinels at length slumber at 
their post, if they falter or decay, we will not 
view it as an infliction, or an affliction, but 
rather as a tranquilizing pause of preparation 
for a state where they are no longer needed. 
While we rejoice that they have for many years 
been continued to us, we will not forget to be 
thankful that we have ourselves also been 
spared for further improvement. 



KEPORTERS. 33 

How many dangers have been overruled that 
we might be sheltered. What hosts of ene- 
mies have been trodden down that we might 
live. In how many nameless forms does death 
beset helpless infancy. From the cradle what 
an unending procession to the grave. The 
little hand falls powerless, the eye just learning 
to love the light, retires within its sealed 
fringes, the tongue that began to lisp the 
mother's name is mute, and she, with a sorrow 
that words have never told, is a weeper over a 
small, green mound, or, starting at midnight, 
stretches her empty arms in vain. Yet, from 
the foes that beset waking life, we have been 
saved. 

The child at school, having surmounted the 
perils of earlier years, is considered compara- 
tively safe. Who says there is safety at any 
age, if he has heard the funeral prayer by the 
pale clay so late full of vigor, and seen the 
school-mates move a mournful train, to the cold 
bed of the loved sharer in their studies and 
their sports. 

Youth is forth, like the morning-sun, upon 



34 PAST MERIDIAN. 

the green hill-tops. Its cheek is bloom ; its 
step, grace ; its voice, melody. No care hath 
touched it, and kneeling love worships it as an 
idol. Rose there a voice upon the saddened 
air, '' ashes to ashes, dust to dust ! " All is 
over. Perchance, it was our bosom's friend. 
Yet we lived, and passed onward. 

The father and mother are the center of a 
happy circle. All their powers are in requisi- 
tion to protect, to guide, to foster the children 
whom God hath given them. They seem 
essential to their welfare, not only for the '' life 
that now is, but for that which is to come.'' 
Their place is empty. Their voice is silent. 
To the home of their love they return no more, 
and the orphans go about the streets. 

But, have we been permitted to see our 
nursery-plants grow up, and cast a fair shadow ? 
Have we taken a blossom from their stem, a 
baby grandchild upon our knee, and felt its 
velvet fingers moving lovingly amid our silver 
hairs, and new life entering into our veins from 
its quickly beating heart, or merry laughter ? 
And, was not this new affection as fond as that 



REPORTEKS. 35 

of young paternity, as warm with fresh hope, 
and perchance even more pleasant, in being 
freed from an anxious burden of accounta- 
biUty? 

Why should we ever forget to be thankful ? 
Does the soldier, standing at his own quiet door, 
having left most of his comrades stark and stiff 
on fields of warfare, feel no gratitude ? Does 
the sailor, whose companions sank with the 
Avrecked ship, view with indifference the life- 
boat that rescued him from the whelming 
wave ? 

Behold, from the battle and the storm, we 
have been saved. Wherefore we are thus dis- 
tinguished, it is not for us to say. Yet a weight 
of obligation rests on us, to render, in some pro- 
portion, according to the benefits we have 
received, and the risks from which we have 
been shielded. 

Are we not in life's school, the highest class ? 
the longest under training ? and probably the 
first to be dismissed? How can we best prove 
that our tuition has not been in vain, that He 
who hath granted us such a protracted term of 



36 P A S T M E R I D I A N . 

fatherly discipline, may not pronounce ns idle 
scholars, or profitless stewards of his abound- 
ing mercy ? So faithfully served by his report- 
ers, we should surely be able to present a good 
report at last. 

Sometimes, in seasons of earnest supplica- 
tion, we may have felt as if we could adopt the 
appeal of the endangered debtor, " Have pa- 
tience with me, and I will pay thee all." 

The Master hath had patience with us. 
How have we performed our part of the 
contract ? 



CHAPTER IV. 



C|« Ciist0(r2 at JiitttiuU^g^. 

The old man sate in his elbow-chair, 

His locks were thin and gray ; 
Memory, that early friend, was there, 
And he in querulous tones did say, 
' Hast thou not lost, with careless key, 
Something that I entrusted to thee ? ' 
Her tardy answer was sad and low, 
' Alas, I fear that it may be so/ 

Knowledge, in all ages of the civilized 
world, has been prized and coveted. The 
cloistered monk made it, of old, a substitute for 
life's warm charities, and the philosopher of 
modern times finds in it a more permanent dis- 
tinction than rank or wealth can bestow. The 
pleasures of original thought, of deep research, 
of high converse with nature or art, are a rich 

reward for the perseverance they require. For 

4 



38 PAST MERIDIAN. 

them, both contemplative and ambitious men 
have been content 

" To scorn delights, and live laborious days." 

To the mind thus elevated, even the bliss of 
heaven is enhanced by the thought that there 
its aspirations w^ill be freed from the barriers 
and obstacles that fettered them here below. 
A fair, young creature, to whom death had 
dealt the final stroke, pointed upward in ecsta- 
tic hope, and said, with her ebbing breath, 

" There, boundless floods of knowledge roll, 
And pour, and pour upon the soul." 

To retain, as well as to amass this precious 
treasure, is a point of immense importance. 
The "custodia," or military guard of the 
ancient Romans, led chained to his left hand, 
the prisoner or captive committed to his charge. 
Of memory, w^e are wont to expect similar vigi- 
lance. The tendency of advanced age is to 
impair this custody. Whether the tendency is 
inevitable, or to be resisted, is an inquiry of 
serious import. 



THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 39 

The venerable President Quincy, whose 
retentive powers, and mental elasticity, sur- 
mount the pressure of time, thus pleasantly 
alluded to this subject, in a speech on a public 
occasion in Boston, after he had numbered 
seventy years : 

'' To an old man, Memory is wont to be an 
arrant jilt, and is no way delicate in letting him 
know that, like the rest of her sex, she gives 
young men the preference." 

The fidelity of Memory is doubtless more 
entire for trusts committed to her in early life. 
She had then fewer objects to divide her atten- 
tion, and more room in her casket to arrange 
her accumulated stores. She attaches a height- 
ened value to w^hat was gained with toil, so that 
the axioms and precepts which were deepened 
by education seldom escape her. 

There are some who propose the use of writ- 
ten memoranda, as an expedient for mental 
retention. Yet, they serve rather to nourish 
the sloth of Memory, than to gird her for 
healthful action. Is it necessary that she 
should fail with years, unless the action of 



40 PAST MERIDIAN. 

disease impairs some of those organs through 
whose agency she has been accustomed to 
receive impressions ? 

The women of our aborigines were the 
keepers of the archives and legendary lore of 
their tribes. In extreme age, their powers of 
recollection have been observed to be perma- 
nent and vivid I saw a female, of the Mohe- 
gan nation, who had numbered one hundred 
and seventeen years. The skin upon her face 
and hands was rigid and mottled as the bark 
of a tree, and from her eyes light had long de- 
parted. Yet, within, the lamp of memory 
clearly burned. She spoke of the state of her 
people, in the far-off days of her childhood, of 
the terror they felt at the powerful and savage 
Mohawks, of the lineaments of different chief- 
tains who had borne sway, and of the spread- 
ing strength of the whites, who like a great 
oak-tree overshadowed them. She graphically 
narrated many circumstances of the visit of her 
brother, the Rev. Samson Occum, to England, 
of the kindness that was shown him there by 
the great and good, the presents that were made 



THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 41 

him, and spoke especially of the books that 
he so proudly brought back to his native 
shores. 

I had also a valued friend, who reached the 
age of a hundred, whose memory was not con- 
fined to the impressions of early years, but took 
sympathetic cognizance of passing events. An 
amiable temper kept awake his interest in all 
around, and prevented the hermetical sealing 
of what only concerned his own early and 
immediate sphere. 

That infirmity of the retentive faculties is 
inseparable from advanced age, seems the 
general opinion. I w^ould ask if it is a condi- 
tion of mind, exclusively confined to the old? 
I think I have known the blooming and the 
vigorous to forget many things. The young 
girl may forget to learn her lessons, and the 
graduate of college the lessons that he has 
learned. The philosopher has been known to 
forget his own theories, and the eloquent states- 
man to pay his debts. It is not the exclusive 
province of grey hairs to forget attainments, 

resolutions, or promises. There was a 

4* 



42 PAST MERIDIAN. 

gentleman who had the reputation of forgetting 
the precise hour that had been appointed for his 
marriage, and was found prolonging a walk, 
when the bridal party had assembled. Whether 
this was real forgetfulness, or affectation, I was 
not given distinctly to understand. But, at any 
rate, he had not lost his memory through age. 

Consider what untiring efforts are made, to 
strengthen the retentive powers of the young. 
Stated lessons through their whole scholastic 
period, daily recitation and repetition, conversa- 
tion with teachers and fellow-pupils, deepening, 
riveting, incorporating knowledge with the very 
structure of the mind. Memory is thus made 
a prompt, active servant. She is strong through 
exercise. She has no time to idle away. She 
is busy, tinging dreams, even when the body 
sleeps. 

But we, who have been warned of her dis- 
position to become a deserter, take few precau- 
tions to detain her. Perhaps we feed her on 
the old, mouldy corn, and neglect to give her a 
taste of the new harvest. Coo^nizance of 



THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 43 

passing things, as well as of recorded events, 
is essential to her healthful condition. 

I had a friend, God bless every memorial and 
mention of him, who to the verge of eighty, 
labored to preserve a naturally strong memory, 
not only by interest in the concerns of others, 
but by learning daily, by heart, something from 
books. Can we not form the habit of acquir- 
ing, verbatim, every day, a few lines of poetry, 
or a single verse from the Bible ? 

Can't we rememher ? I suspect the failure to 
be that of sufficient repetition. No one is inte- 
rested to hear us. The child, whose first fal- 
tering intonations w^e fostered with parental 
pride, is immersed in the cares of life, and can 
not regard our fragmentary gleanings. We 
need not expect our children, or grandchildren, 
to listen to our mental gatherings, as we have 
done to theirs. Friends and visitants, we would 
not wish to annoy, and thus the privilege of 
repetition, on which memory so much depends, 
is forfeited. 

An aged gentleman, who was not willing to 
lose the advantage of deepening the traces 



44 past:meridian. 

of a course of history he was pursuing, devised 
an ingenious expedient. A promising youth, 
the expenses of whose education he was kindly 
defraying, came daily at a regular time to read 
to him. He employed a portion of this interval, 
in a condensed statement of what he had 
perused in solitude, and was surprised to find 
how tenaciously it afterwards adhered to remem- 
brance. Thus the pupil unconsciously became 
a teacher, and the benefactor shared in his own 
gifts. 

Why would it not be well for neighbors who 
are advanced in years, to meet at allotted 
periods, and converse critically of the authors 
they are reading, and repeat what they have 
considered worthy to be committed to mem.ory ? 
If it should seem too much like a school, is 
there any objection to that? Why might 
there not be schools for the aged, as well as 
"schools of the prophets?" Life is a school. 
" I shall be thankful to die, learning something," 
said a wise man. 

The truth is, that Memory requires more 
culture, than the aged are inclined to give 



THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 45 

her. They take it for granted that she must 
decay, and antedate the time. They release 
her from service among the Uving present, and 
force her to look only backward, until the 
sinews of her neck are stiffened. One method 
of engraving what w^e do not wish to forget, is 
to teach it to others. An auditory of little ones 
wall usually hang around the old person w^ho 
tells them stories. Grave truths, and sacred 
precepts, may be thus enwTapped in ''sugary 
narrative," with a salutary and lasting influence. 
One aged person who had been in the habit of 
briefly writing in a journal, from early life, 
found it profitable in his nightly self-examina- 
tion, to trace back the same day through many 
years, recalling the dealings of divine provi- 
dence with himself and others, and selecting 
some subject for the little descriptive entertain- 
ment his grandchildren had been trained to 
expect from him every morning. 

It has been already admitted that passing 
events are more difficult to be retained by the 
aged than those which were coeval with their 
prime. Is not the antidote, to mingle as much 



46 PAST MERIDIAN. 

interest and affection as possible with the mov- 
ing drama of life, and its actors? to entwine 
around each new generation the links of love ? 
Memory, thus fed by living sympathies, like the 
Roman captive, nourished at his daughter's 
breast, would sustain solitude and flourish. 

" Ah ! when shall all men's good 
Be each man's care ? and universal love 
Strike, like a shaft of light, across the land ? " 

Should it be felt, or feared, that, in spite of 
every precaution, Memory does indeed grow 
inert to intellectual gatherings, or to the routine 
of daily events, that she records not, as 
formerly, the dates of history, or the names of 
men, let the heart breathe upon her. That is 
Ithuriel's spear. Though her key may have 
been so long used that some of its wards are 
worn. Love's hand can turn it. 

Heart-memories are the most indelible. A 
woman of more than fourscore, in whom sick- 
ness had prostrated both physical and mental 
energies, failed to state correctly even the 
number of her children. A friend endeavored 



THE CUSTODY OF KNOWLEDGE. 47 

to restore the imagery of active years, but in 
vain. At length, the circumstance of her 
father's leaving home to take a soldier's part in 
the war of our Revolution was accidentally 
mentioned. It had called forth the deep anxie- 
ties of an affectionate family, when she was 
yet a young child. The fountain of the heart 
heaved, light came to her eye, and a tear glit- 
tered there, as she murmured, 

'' I remember, — yes, — I remember his kiss 
when he turned away from the door. It is 
warm on my cheek now." 

If Memory is weary, it is safe to sustain her 
on the arm of that blessed charity which 
embraces all mankind. The religion whose 
seat is in the affections, survives when polemic 
fervor and theological subtleties are lost in obli- 
vion. The instance of the aged clergyman, 
who forgot his boyhood's friend, the favorite 
son under whose roof he dwelt, and the darling 
babe who was daily brought to nestle in his 
bosom, yet remembered the name of his ''dear 
Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ," is well-known, 
but always worthy of being repeated. 



48 PAST MERIDIAN. 

If holy love thus keeps alive the memory, 
like living waters at its root, when its green 
leaves are crisp with frost, let us labor to 
strengthen that love toward God, and likewise 
toward this fleeting world, precious because it 
is His world, and His hand has placed us as 
pilgrims in it. Yet, should we have evidence 
within ourselves that Memory has become 
vacillating or infirm, we will be in no haste to 
proclaim it on the house-tops. There are 
enough who are ready and swift to publish the 
declension, if we admit it ourselves. Rather 
should we struggle to keep hold of the hand 
of that old and tried friend as long as possible. 
We will not expose her weakness, nor say 
that she has deserted us, while we can touch 
the hem of her garment. We will not see her 
go forth, like Hagar from Abraham's tent, with- 
out putting on her shoulder the water-bottle 
that she may refresh herself in the wilderness. 
Though she return no more to the oaks of 
Mamre, yet, if we are at last so blessed as to 
meet the angels who visited there, she will be 
with them : — for, she is never to die. 



CHAPTER V. 



The principle of beauty hath no age, 
It looketh forth, even though the eye be dim, 
The forehead frost-crown'd, yea, it looketh forth 
Like holy star, on all whom God hath made. 

The beauty of age! Does any one call me 
ironical, or point the finger at me in derision ? 
Verily, I am speaking in good faith. 

Yet, am I not ignorant of what Time takes 
away. I know that he is prone to steal from 
the eye its lustre, and from the Parian brow its 
smoothness. The round cheek falls away at 
his ploughshare, and the dimples disappear. 
The hair, no longer abundant, leaves the bald 
crown, or withered temples unshielded. Its 
hues of chestnut, or auburn, or raven black, 
vanish, and the complexion, unrelieved by their 

5 



60 PAST MERIDIAN. 

rich contrast, loses its tint of rose or lily, and 
settles into the trying companionship of iron- 
grey, or white. The erect form yields its dig- 
nity. The vertebral column bends, and the 
limbs resign their elasticity. Happy are they 
who are compelled to call in no aid from crutch 
or staff, to sustain their footsteps. The beauti- 
ful hand loses its plumpness, and bones, and 
sinews, and jagged veins become protuberant. 
Even the ear sometimes forfeits its delicate 
symmetry, and grows elephantine. The voice 
is prone to forget its harmony ; or, unmodified 
by its dental allies, '' pipes and whistles in its 
sound." 

All these deteriorations, and more than these, 
I admit, yet boldly sustain my argument, the 
heauty of age. 

Where is it ? In what does it consist ? Its 
dwelling is in the soul, and it makes itself visi- 
ble by radiations that reach the soul ; by the 
smile of benevolence, by limitless good will, 
by a saintly serenity, by the light of heaven, 
shining upon the head that is so near it. 

The smile of Washington, which had always 



BEAUTYOFAGE. 51 

possessed a peculiar charm, gathered force and 
sweetness from the snows of time. One who 
was accustomed to meet him in the family, 
says, " Whenever he gave me one of those 
smiles, I always felt the tears swelling under 
my eye-lids." 

What an affecting sketch of the tranquil 
beauty of age, on which death has set its seal, 
is given in a letter from Pope, to an artist whom 
he desires to preserve the likeness of the 
mother w^hose declining years w^ere soothed by 
his filial love and duty. 

^' My poor old mother is dead. I thank God 
that her death was as easy as her life has been 
innocent; and, as it cost her not a groan, or 
even a sigh, there is still upon her countenance 
such an expression of tranquillity, nay, almost 
of pleasure, that it is amiable to behold. It 
would afford the finest image of a saint expired 
that painter ever drew ; and, it would be the 
greatest obligation which that art could bestow 
on a friend, if you could come and sketch it for 
me. I hope to see you soon, ere this winter- 
flower shall, have faded. I will defer the 



52 PAST MERIDIAN. 

interment until to-morrow night. I know you 
love me, or I could not have written this, or 
indeed, at such a time, have written at all. 
Adieu. May you die as happy." 

At his villa of Twickenham, bought with the 
first fruits of his translation of Homer's Iliad, 
the poet sheltered and solaced this venerable 
mother. From her honored seat at his fireside, 
her tender, simple message cheered him amid 
his toils. '^ I send you my daily prayers, and I 
bless you, my deare." More touching and 
admirable was the interchange of these hal- 
lowed sensibilities than all the melody of his 
verse. 

Of the intrinsic beauty of age, I have been 
so happy as to see some distinguished speci- 
mens. My infant eyes opened upon one. My 
earliest perceptions of the beautiful and holy 
were entwined with silver hairs, and I bless 
God that the fourteen first years of life were 
nurtured under their serene shadow. A fair 
countenance, a clear, blue eye, and a voice of 
music, return to me as I recall the image of that 
venerated lady, over whom more than threescore 



BEAUTYOFAGE. 53 

and ten years had passed ere I saw the hght. 
Her tall, graceful form, moving with elastic step 
through the parterres, whose numerous flowers 
she superintended, and her brow, raised in calm 
meditation from the sacred volume she was 
reading, were to me beautiful. Many sought 
to take counsel of her, both for the things of 
this life and the next, and her words were so 
uttered as to make them happier as well as 
W'iser. The sorrowful came to be enlightened 
by the sunbeam that dwelt in her spirit, and 
the children of want to find bread and a gar- 
ment; for, her w^ealth was the Lord's, and when 
she cast it into His treasury, it was with a 
smile, as if she was herself the receiver. The 
beauty of the soul was hers, that waxeth not 
old. Love was in her heart to all whom God 
had made, a love not ending in blind indulgence, 
but seeking to elevate them in the scale of 
existence. Thus it was until eighty-eight years 
had passed over her; and, when she entered 
the exalted society for which she had been fit- 
ted here, tears flowed widely and freely, as for 
one in their prime. At her grave, I learned my 



5-i PASTMERIDIAN. 

first lesson of a bursting grief that has never 
been forgotten. Let none say that the aged 
die unloved, or unmourned by the young. It is 
not so. 

Another I knew, v^ithout munificent endow- 
ment of mind, person, or position. Yet, had 
he to the last a beauty that love followed, — the 
beauty of kind regard to all creatures, and of a 
perfect temperament that never yielded to 
ang-er. Hence, the wheels of life ran on with- 
out chafing ; and, in his eighty-eighth year, his 
step was as elastic as at twenty, the florid hue 
of his cheek unchanged, and his bright, brown 
hair, without a thread of silver. He loved the 
plants and flowers, and knew how scientifically 
to promote their welfare, and to enrich the dark, 
brown mould with golden fruits, and fair vine- 
clusters. By these sweet recreations, life was 
made sweeter, and renewed its pleasures, like 
the fresh spring-buds, and the bird that returns 
again to its nest after the winter. Sorrows he 
had tasted, but they left no cloud, only a deeper 
tenderness for all who mourned. His religion 
had no mixture of coldness toward those who 



BEAUTY OF AGE. 55 

differed from him, no exclusiveness, no bigotry. 
The frailties of those around, he regarded with 
gentleness, or with pity. He blamed not, 
upbraided not. On his loving soul there was 
no slander-spot. His life was like one long 
smile, closing with a music-strain. And on it 
w^as written, as a fair motto, '' the man without 
an enemy r 

From the sacred pictures of the departed 
that hang in the soul's temple, I w^ould fain 
select another. It is of a friend, who, in early 
years, suffered from feebleness of constitution, 
yet, by care and temperance, so renovated his 
health, that age was to him better and more 
vigorous than youth. A strong perception of 
the beautiful, both in nature and art, lighted up 
his mind with a perpetual sunbeam. His fine 
taste went hand in hand with a perfect philan- 
thropy, so that what he admired he patronized, 
and what he patronized he spread abroad, that 
others might share his enjoyment. The gates 
of his spacious rural villa were thrown open as 
a pleasure-ground for all the people ; and, with 
the treasures of literature and the arts, he 



56 P A S T M E R I D I A N . 

enriched the noble pubhc mstitute that he 
founded. The holy truth walked ever by his 
side ; while independence of thought and action, 
with regard to men, was mingled with the deep- 
est humility and reverence toward God. To 
draw merit from obscurity, to sustain honest 
industry, to encourage humble virtue, to stimu- 
late the young to higher effort, and silently to 
relieve the suffering poor, were his pleasures. 
And, with these pleasures would sometimes 
steal over his brow an expression denied to what 
the world calls beauty, "the set of features, 
and complexion, the tincture of the skin that 
she admires." It was the beauty of the soul, 
looking forth in the life of one, who faithfully, 
and without ostentation, held his large fortune 
in stewardship for God and for man. 

By his side was a being of an angelic spirit, 
who strengthened all his high resolves, and 
tenderly divided his sorrows and his joys. Me- 
thinks I see her, as if she now sate beside me ; 
her delicate, upright, symmetrical form, the 
grace of her movements, the magic of her 
smile, the courteous manners, that charmed 



BEAUTYOFAGE. 57 

even the unrefined, the tasteful adaptation of 
costume to position, and the perfect judgment 
that led her to choose 

Best means for wisest ends, and speak right words 
At fitting times. 

She was said to have been exceedingly beau- 
tiful in youth, but the portraits of that period 
bore no resemblance to her countenance in 
advanced years, so much had Time changed its 
structure. Yet, she held a talisman, over 
v^hich he had no power, a goodness, disrobed 
of self, enchanting all that came within its 
sphere, and a trusting piety that knew no cloud. 

Thus she, and the companion of her days, 
made their childless home attractive to every 
visitant, until the verge of fourscore, when they 
entered a mansion not made with hands. She 
was first summoned, and through a lingering 
decline, sought strength from above, to adhere, 
as far as possible to her habits of usefulness^ 
and that gentle self-renunciation, which, in pro- 
moting the good of others, forgot its own 
sufferings. As her step grew feeble, her brow 



58 P A S T M E R I D I A N . 

became more sweetly serene, and daily she 
took her seat at the table, and the fireside, that 
she might cheer him by her presence, whose 
life of life was in her. 

The last night that she was with us below, 
she spent as usual, some time in her oratory, 
ere retiring to her chamber for repose. What 
the angels said to her, in that sacred seclusion, 
or what she said to her God, we know not ; but, 
at the midnight hour, they came to bear her to 
Him. And she was ready. 

It was not for us to hear their w^hisper, ''Sister 
spirit, come arvay ! " but, we saw that they left 
on the untroubled brow, a smile as calm, as 
holy as their own. And we gave glory to God, 
through our tears, for her blessed example, who 
had departed this life in His faith and fear. 

Countless instances might be adduced of the 
subdued and saintly lustre that marks the sunset 
of well-spent life. And, it would be pleasant 
to me thus to enlarge, for it has been my privi- 
lege often to be near, and always to admire the 
** hoary head found in the way of righteous- 
ness." 



BEAUTYOFAGE. 69 

I must indulge myself and my readers with 
one more example. It occurs in a description 
from the graceful pen of N. P. Willis, of his 
own beautiful rural life on the banks of the 
Hudson. 

"Our venerable neighbor, of eighty years of age, with his 
white locks, and face beaming with the benignity of a summer's 
evening, came back at the first softening of the season. He goes 
to the city, — this beloved neighbor of ours, — when the roads 
become impassable for his tremulous feet ; but, he gains health, 
(as he was saying, with his usual truthful wisdom, to-day,) not 
alone from the sidewalks and other opportunities of exercise. In 
the mental ' change of air ' he finds an invigorating tonic, (one, 
by the way, which I am glad of this bright example to assist in 
recommending to the dispirited invalid, for there is more medi- 
cine in it than would be believed, without trial,) and he inhales 
it in the larger field that he finds for the instructive benevolence 
which forms his occupation in the country. He passes his time 
in the city in visiting schools, hospitals, prisons, — every place 
where human love and wisdom would look in together. He 
speaks fluently. His voice is singularly sweet and winning; 
and, with his genial and beautiful expression of countenance, his 
fine features, and the venerable dignity of his bent form, in its 
Quaker garb, he is listened to with exceeding interest. Children 
particularly delight to hang on his words. One great charm, 
perhaps, is his singular retention of creativeness of mind, — 
though so old, still continuing to talk as he newly thinlcs^ not as 
he rememders. The circumstances of the moment, therefore, 



60 PAST MERIDIAN.- 

suffice for a theme, or for the attractive woof on which to broi- 
der instruction, and he does it with a mingled playfulness and 
earnestness which form a most attractive as well as valuable les- 
son. Can any price be put on such an old man, as the belong- 
ing of a neighborhood ? Can landscape gardening invent any- 
thing more beautiful than such a form daily seen coming through 
an avenue of trees, his white locks waving in the wind, and the 

children running out to meet him with delight ? Friend S 

strolls to Idlewild, on any sunny day, and joins us at any meal, 
or lies down to sleep or rest on a sofa in the library, — and, can 
painting or statuary give us any semblance, more hallowing to 
the look and character of a home, more cheering and dignifying 
to its atmosphere and society ? Among the Arts — among the 
refinements of taste — in the culture of Beauty, in America — let 
us give Old Age its preeminence ! The best arm-chair, by the 
fire-side, the privileged room, with its warmest curtains and 
freshest flowers, the preference and first place in all groups and 
scenes in which Age can mingle — such is the proper frame and 
setting for this priceless picture in a home. With less slavery 
to business, and better knowledge and care of health, we shall 
have more Old Age in our country : in other words, for our 
homes there will be more of this most crowning beauty." 

Youth hath its fascinating smile, 

Its cheek of rose-bud ray ; 
They charm the admiring eye awhile, 

Then fade, and fleet away ; 
But, Age, with heaven-taught wisdom crown'd, 

That waits its Father's will. 
And walks in love with all around, 

Hath higher beauty still. 



BEAUTY OF AGE. 61 

Are not the changes in man's Hfe, Hke those 
of the day and the seasons, beautiful ? Morn 
is fair, but we would not always have it morn- 
ing. Noon is brilliant, but the wearied senses 
crave repose, as from the long excitement of an 
Arctic summer. Evening, with her placid 
moon, through the chequering branches, dis- 
guises every blemish, bathes the simplest archi- 
tecture in a flood of silver light, and makes the 
vine-clad cottage and the antique column alike 
beautiful. 

Even though it should chance to be winter, 
yet shrink not to come forth, with a heart to 
admire and love ; for, through the bare trees, 
the silver queen of heaven looks down more 
clearly, and the untrodden snow-hills rejoice in 
her beam, and, amid the pure, blue ether, the 
stars multiply, each giving secret sweet-voiced 
welcome to the soul that is soon to rise above 
their spheres. 

6 



CHAPTER VI. 



^ir 



" And now, behold, your tender nurse, the ah*, 
And common neighbor, that, with order due. 
Whene'er you breathe, doth in accordance move. 

Now in, now out, in time and measure true ; 
And, when you speak, so well the art she loves. 

That, doubling oft, she doth herself renew ; 
For, all the words that from your lips repair 
Are but the countless tricks and turnings of the air. " 

Sir John Davies. 

The friendsliip of the elements for man is 
beautiful. To inspire his frail fabric with 
vitaUty, to warm, to refresh, and finally to cover 
it when it sleeps the dreamless sleep, are their 
kind and perpetual services. Each of these 
'' ministering particles," have, in their turn, w^on 
eloquent praise. 

Zoroaster and his followers deified the subtle 



AIR. 63 

Fire, in which they recognized the great vivi- 
fying principle of the -universe. PHny, and 
other ancient philosophers, applauded the per- 
vading love of the Earth for her offspring, 
which, like a watchful mother, fed and clothed 
the creature of the dust, and folded his latest 
sorrow in her bosom. Water has been the 
favorite of the moderns, who have discovered 
in it new affinities with health, and almost 
uncontrollable agencies in the, realm of nature. 
Our own simple remarks w^ill be confined to the 
remaining element of Air, which the quaint 
poet, at their head, made some two hundred 
and fifty years since, a chosen theme for his 
verse. 

It may not, indeed, be subjugated by man to 
such varieties of servitude as some of its com- 
peers, yet he can scarcely exist a moment with- 
out its permission. The earth he burdens with 
palaces and pyramids, the pent fires do his bid- 
ding, and his ships rule the mountain- w^ave. 
But, he inflates a balloon, and the storm-cloud 
overturns it, and, perhaps, takes the life of the 



64 PAST MERIDIAN. 

headlong seronaut. In his reverie, he builds a 
castle on the air, and where is it ? 

Yet, this imperious and impervious element, 
the master of his life, how varied and earnest 
are its ministrations for his welfare. If he will 
systematically combine it with active exercise, 
it gives him strength and vigor. Of this, the 
advanced in years seldom are sufficiently aware. 
They suflfer lassitude to steal over them, till, 
like the sleeper among Alpine snows, they arise 
no more. A daily walk or drive in the open 
air, preserves energy, and quickens the tide of 
sympathy for the living world. 

The mother country gives us, in this respect, 
good examples, if we would but heed them. 
Her young infants are sent forth in the fresh 
morning air. Her little ones gambol in the 
lawns and parks. Her ladies are great pedes- 
trians, fearless of rain or cold. . Her gentlemen, 
however burdened with important concerns, 
always find time for muscular action. Even 
those who have reached a patriarchal age, often 
persevere in equestrian exercise, that elegant 
form of recreation, which, more than any other. 



AIR. 65 

keeps alive the consciousness of manly power 
and dignity. 

I have seen, in my own country, some strik- 
ing instances of the protracted power and enjoy- 
ment of this invigorating exercise. Among 
childhood's unfading sketches of my native 
place, is the figure of a beautiful old man of 
eighty-four, Dr. Joshua Lathrop, of Norwich, 
Conn., who, until the brief illness that preceded 
dissolution, took daily equestrian excursions, 
withheld only by very inclement weather. 
Methinks, I clearly see him now ; — his small, 
well-knit, perfectly upright form, mounted upon 
his noble, lustrous black horse, readily urged 
to an easy canter, his servant a little in the rear. 
I see the large, fair, white wig, with its depth 
of curls, the smartly cocked hat, the rich 
buckles at knee and shoe, and the nicely 
plaited ruffles, over hand and bosom, that in 
those days designated the gentleman of the old 
school. Repeated rides in that varied and 
romantic region, w^ere so full of suggestive 
thought to his religious mind, that he was led 

to construct a good little book, in dialogue form, 

6* 



66 PAST MERIDIAN. 

on the works of nature, and nature's God, enti- 
tled, " The Father and Son," which we young- 
Imgs received with great gratitude from its 
kind-hearted author: juvenile works not being 
then so numerous as to be slightly prized. His 
quick, elastic step in walking, his agility in 
mounting and dismounting his steed, as well as 
his calm, happy temperature, were remarkable, 
and a model for younger men. 

Yet, it is not necessary thus to turn to the 
far-off past, for examples of perseverance and 
grace in this exhilarating exercise. Scarcely 
two years since, I saw the venerable Colonel 
White, of Danbury, Conn., now eighty-five, on 
horseback, at the imposing ceremonies con- 
nected with the public erection of a monument 
to the memory of General David Wooster, the 
revolutionary patriot and martyr. Amid thou- 
sands thronging the streets, he was observed 
passing and re-passing, at an early hour, to the 
lofty Cemetery-Hill, engaged in preliminary 
arrangements for the splendid masonic rites that 
were to mark the burial of the fallen brave. As 
the long procession moved on, with civic and 



AIR. bi 

military pageantry, his spirited animal took 
frio^ht at the unfurlino^ of a banner, when the 
octogenarian rider, (to whom he was a stranger, 
having given up his own horses for the services 
of the day,) managed him with a serene self- 
possession and perfect skill, wdiich few men in 
the prime of their strength could have sur- 
passed or equalled. 

The Rev. Dr. Kendal, of Massachusetts, also 
in his eighty-sixth year, perseveres in that 
active out-door exercise which preserves energy 
and vigor. Driving himself, a short time since, 
several miles from home, the reins chanced to 
part, and the horse became unmanageable. It 
being in the country, none were near to render 
assistance. The venerable gentleman, leaping 
from the carriage, over the wheels, seized. the 
horse by the head, while at a brisk movement, 
and subjected him to control. It was pleasant 
to see a feat, of such activity, so admirably per- 
formed, at so advanced a period of life. 

To those not inured to equestrian exercise, 
a daily walk in the open air, not so far extended 
as to involve weariness or fatigue, is salutary, 



68 PAST MERIDIAN. 

even in extreme old age. To connect these 
excursions with a definite object, either the 
cherishing of friendly intercourse, the sight of 
an interesting prospect, edifice, or institution, 
or the dispensing some comfort to the abode of 
poverty, adds decidedly to their happy physical 
influence. 

Of Isaac T. Hopper, the benevolent Quaker, 
who, till his eighty-first year, continued his daily 
researches through the streets of New" York, 
on errands of mercy, with such proverbial acti- 
vity, it was said, by his biographer, Mrs. Child, 
that ''he would scarcely allow the drivers to 
stop for him, at ascending or descending from 
their vehicles. Few ever passed him without 
asking who he was ; for, not only did his primi- 
tive dress, broad-brimmed hat, and antique 
shoe-buckles, attract attention, but the beauty 
and benevolence of his face, w^ere sure to fix 
the eye of ordinary discernment. He was a 
living temperance lecture, and those who desire 
to preserve good looks, need not ask a more 
infallible recipe than that sweet temper and 



AIR. 69 

active, overflowing benevolence which made 
his countenance so pleasing to all." 

Peregrine "White, the first-born Saxon in 
New England, the lone baby of Cape Cod, 
who opened his eyes ere the tossing Mayflower 
touched Plymouth Rock, trod with firm step, 
until his death at eighty-four, the sands of 
Marshfield, taking, with unshrinking breast, 
deep draughts of the bleak sea-air. His eldest 
daughter, Sarah, the wife of Mr. Thomas 
Y6ung, of Scituate, Mass., inherited his hardi- 
hood and love of the open air, and retained an 
unusual degree of health and mental activity, 
till the advanced age of ninety-two. 

Peregrine White, over whose honored remains 
a monument is soon to be raised, served the 
colony -with fidelity, both in civil and military 
offices. '^ He continued," say the ancient 
records, '^ vigorous and of a comely aspect to 
the last ; " battling the sharp breezes of a rock- 
boimd shore, while monarch after monarch, 
reared in the luxury of palaces, fell from the 
throne of the parent realm. 



70 PAST MERIDIAN. 

King James, the pedant, found a tomb, 

King Charles at Whitehall bled ; 
Stout Cromwell held a twelve years' rule, 

And slumber'd with the dead ; 
The second Charles, with gibe and jest, 

His royal realm survey'd ; 
The second .James, in panic haste, 

Fled from the wreck he made ; 
"William and Mary, hand in hand. 

Their sceptre's sway sustain'd ; 
Queen Anne, the last of Stuart's band, 

In pomp and splendor reign'd : 
Seven sovereigns, from old Albion's throne. 

Stern Death, the spoiler, swept. 
While still his course, erect and firm. 

New England's patriarch kept. 

Frequent open communion with the atmos- 
pheric air, if not an absolute necessity of our 
being, seems an essential condition of vigorous 
health. The pursuits that promote that inter- 
course, such as horticultural, or fioricultural, it 
is, therefore, desirable to cultivate. 

On inquiring for an aged man, at his door, a 
bright-eyed boy said, 

" My grandfather has gone out for his morn- 
ing-walk. I love to have him go, because he 
always comes back pleasant and happy." 



AIR. 71 

Tlie child had gotten the true philosophy of 
the case. We met the silver-haired friend, 
returning with a freshened cheek, and a smile, 
as if he rejoiced in the sweet air, and in Him 
who gave it. A kind word had he ever for all, 
and so he said cheerfully, 

*' I have just set up a banner, to wave in the 
breeze, when I am dead." 

It seems he had been transplanting a shade- 
tree, of a species often destined to attain con- 
siderable size. 

'' The soil was not congenial," he added, ''so 
I had it removed for an area of three or four 
feet, and stepped into the pit myself, to place 
the roots and delicate fibres at ease in their new 
bed. I sprinkled, at first, the pulverized earth 
and rich compost over them, while my man 
added water gradually, treading down the sur- 
face firmly, as much as to say to the new comer, 
' keep at home,' and finishing with a cavity 
around the trunk, a casket to hold such pearl- 
drops as the clouds see fit to give." 

Perceiving that his practical remarks were 
listened to with interest, he kindly proceeded. 



72 PAST MERIDIAN. 

" I caused the body and principal boughs to 
be bathed in soap-suds, and rubbed with a 
coarse cloth, to refresh it hydropathically after 
the trial of leaving its old home ; and, before 
the high winds of winter come, shall have 
stones placed around, to keep the roots from 
being shaken and troubled. My wife takes an 
interest in these things. I love to have her 
hold the tree, when I transplant it. I fancy it 
is more liliely to grow, and get a blessing, if her 
hand has been on it. We planted a tree at the 
birth of all our children. Perhaps we shall yet 
set out a grove before we die." 

The animated countenance of the aged 
speaker reminded me of the enthusiasm with 
which Sir Walter Scott used to expatiate on 
the " exquisite pleasures of planting." The 
greater part of the noble trees at Barley-Wood 
were placed there by the hand of the venerable 
Mrs. Hannah More ; and, a cabinet-table, which 
she prized, and often pointed out to the atten- 
tion of visitants, was inlaid with small diamond- 
shaped pieces of wood, from different trees of 
her own rearing. Those who in early life 



AIR. 73 

rejoiced in the culture of flowers, their own 
emblem of hope and beauty, might with pro- 
priety, in later years, transfer this care to the 
nurture of fruit and shade trees, those tj^es of 
bounty and beneficence ; acceptable parting 
gifts to mankind, and blessings to the nested 
birds,"that sinq^ amonor the branches." 

' Do 

To those whose infirmities preclude the pleas- 
ure of active exercise out of doors, there still 
remain restricted forms of fellowship with the 
renovating air, which it is important to secure. 
The invalid lady who perseveres as far as pos- 
sible in her daily ride, notwithstanding lassitude 
or debility tempts to the indulgence of repose, 
does not lose her reward. The blessed element, 
thus solicited, sustains the worn frame, and 
sweeps away many of the morbid fancies and 
groundless fears that disease engenders. 

A lady, who was not able to bear the fatigue 
of systematic riding, told me she had maintained 
some degree of vigor, and, perhaps, resisted 
pulmonary tendencies, by a brief yet systema- 
tic intercourse with the morning air, for a short 

time, through her window. Opening it, and, if 

1 



74 PASTMERIDIAN. 

the current proved too fresh, wrapping herself 
in a shawl, she inhaled deep draughts, holding 
her breath until the minute vessels of the lungs 
were saturated with air, and then casting it off, 
by throwing out the arms to expand the chest. 
Mrs. Emma Willard, of Troy, in her remark- 
able treatise, " On the motive powers that pro- 
duce the circulation of the blood," thus describes 
a course by w^hich she has been enabled long 
to persist in the preparation of those excellent 
works which have given her a high rank among 
American writers. After speaking of her care 
to preserve an equal and moderate degree 
of warmth, during the cold seasons, she 
says : — - 

"In the morning, I usually exercised about an hour, in 
accordance with some housekeeping habits. During the day, I 
took exercise once in two hours. Letting down the upper sash, 
and facing the current of fresh air, I began moderately, increas- 
ing my exercise until it became, for a few moments, violent ; 
stepping backward and forward, to keep my face to the window, 
and moving my arms in a manner to expand the chest. Then, 
as the quick, deep breathing came on, and the inspirations of air 
were as refreshing as water from a cool spring in summer, I 
checked my exercise to give full play to the respiratory organs, 
and, when I had breathed the pure air till I was satisfied, closed 



AIR. 76 

the window, sat down, and wrapped my cloak around me, to 
make, for a few minutes longer, breathing my chief employ. 
The additional garment kept the heightened temperature which 
exercise had given from passing oflf by evaporation, and I sat 
down to my writing, with fresh blood in my brain and hand, 
and with a warmth far more genial than that of a furnace heat. 
After dinner, I 'slept awhile,' and then employed myself in 
reading ; and, after tea, completed the old rhyme by ' walking a 
mile.' In the evening, I thus found myself as vigorous for writ- 
ing as in the morning, and often wrote several hours before 
retiring." 

As the result of this system, she states that, 
at the end of three years and a half, during 
which, especially in the winter, she labored 
from twelve to fourteen hours a day, in study 
and writing, she had better health than at the 
commencement of these severe toils. This 
philosophical and Christian care of her physical 
welfare has doubtless been repaid in the uncom- 
mon preservation of those energies, which, from 
early youth, w^ere developed in the noble pro- 
fession of a teacher and pioneer in the field of 
education. More than five thousand of her 
own sex have been under her instruction ; and, 
in every State of our Union, they lovingly 
remember her. It was a source of satisfaction 



76 PASTMERIDIAN. 

to her friends that, in her sixty-eighth year, she 
should have made her second tour in Europe, 
with a bright spirit, and much of the lingering 
comehness of her early prime, cheered also by 
that appreciation in foreign lands, which she 
has so well merited in her own. 

Air, whose free, loving embrace, greeteth 
every one who cometh into the world, should 
be gratefully welcomed until they go out of it. 
Painful contrast has taught its value to the pin- 
ing sufferer in the fever-wards of some crowded 
hospital, and to the pale prisoner in his grated 
cell. The captives in the hideous '' donjon- 
keeps" of the feudal times, or the wretched 
victims in the Black Hole, at Calcutta, terribly 
tested the worth of that gift to which we are 
too often culpably indifferent. 

I hope to be excused for any minute or 
common-place detail, which may have occur- 
red in this chapter, and for having written con 
amore of what has seemed to me an important 
adjunct, if not an essential element of that price- 
less possession, " mens sance, in corpore sano'^ 

But, this subtle element of air, so powerful 



A I K . 77 

over our physical and mental organization, 
hath it aught to do with moral structure, or 
spiritual welfare ? Yes. — Modified by elo- 
quence, it rules the multitude of minds ; swell- 
ing into music, it stirs up passionate admiration ; 
wrought into words of compassion, it heals the 
broken in heart ; breathing fron;i the soul of 
piety, it quickens the souls of others, as by the 
spirit of the Lord. 

Whom see we on yonder couch ? One, whose 
work on earth is finished. Air is about to for- 
sake him. The lungs collapse. He is lifeless. 

Hath he then taken final leave of the air? 
No. In the form of words here uttered, air 
shaped into sound, — in the form of deeds spring- 
ing from those words, — air shaiJed into action, 
it shall meet him at the judgment. 

Let us, therefore, dear friends, as long as 
we are dwellers in the body, beware how we 
use this wondrous element of air, lest that on 
which we have never laid our hand, should 
fearfully confront us, when the "books are 
opened, and the dead, small and great, stand 
before God." 



CHAPTEK VII 



" This is the place. Stand still, my steed, 
Let me review the scene, 
And summon from the shadowy Past, 

The things that once have been : 
For, Past and Present here unite, 

Beneath Time's j3owing tide. 
Like footprints hidden by a brook. 
But seen on either side." 

Longfellow. 

Germany, where domestic anniversaries are 
the most pleasantly cherished, is distinguished 
by a healthful growth of domestic happiness. 
Recurrences of the marriage-day, of the births 
of children, grandchildren, and especially of 
the silver-haired grandparents, are welcomed 
with fond and fervent congratulation. 

In that country, the Golden Bridal as it is 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES 79 

called, or the fiftieth return of the marriage- 
day, is marked by ceremonies peculiarly strik- 
ing and national. Preparations for a domestic 
festival are made, and the rooms richly adorned 
with flowers. The venerable pair, arrayed in 
their best garments, and surrounded by child- 
ren and near relatives, receive visitors and con- 
gratulations as if about to begin life anew. 
This sentiment pervades, in some measure, the 
whole entertainment. Wedding gifts are 
brought, and, mingled with them, are notes of 
love and good washes, bursting forth, as the 
German heart is wont to do, into strains of 
poetry. 

A recent traveler, Mr. R. S. Willis, has thus 
graphically described a scene of this nature, 
which he was permitted to w^itness 

"The venerably youthful pair sate side by side, in two great 
arm-chairs, the very picture of mellow and serene old age. 
Those capacious chairs were also among the gifts, having been 
exquisitely embroidered by fair hands. Suspended above them, 
hung their portraits, taken, indeed, at a much earlier period, but 
which seemed not half so beautiful, in their youthful lineaments, 
as the venerable heads which now, in the calm Indian summer 
of hfe, rose beneath them. From two large vases below, on 



80 PAST MERIDIAN. 

either side of the portraits, sprang two vigorous shoots of hving 
ivy, ascending and enwrcathing them, and forming a kind of 
triumphal arch over the couple beneath, whose accomplishment 
of fifty years of such unclouded, exemplary married life, might 
well be regarded as a triumph, and as such be celebrated." 

Then follows an enumeration of the presents, 
many of which were costly, for the aged bride- 
groom, having been a composer and teacher of 
music, had instructed some pupils of wealth 
and rank, who vied with each other, on this 
occasion, in testifying their affectionate regard. 
A wreath of laurel was thrown over the snowy 
locks of the patriarch, and one of myrtle 
placed on the head of his companion, by a fair 
young girl of the Rhine, an affianced bride, 
who, in her kiss, besought the blessing of one 
who had so long beautified that " holy estate," 
upon which she, as a novice, was about to 
enter. 

After the dinner, where two long tables w^ere 
filled by descendants and guests, a deputation 
of the musical pupils assembled in an adjoining 
apartment, to cheer, by the melody of voice and 
instrument, the heart of their old master, and 
his friends. 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 81 

"No sooner," continues the narrator, "had he recognized the 
performers, and the tones of his own early devotional music, 
than, lifting the little velvet cap which always covered his head, 
his silver locks floating out, and raising his glistening eyes to 
God, to whom those solemn strains were addressed, he seemed 
for a moment overcome with gratitude to Him." 

In our own country, these household eras are 
sometimes regarded, though with less of roman- 
tic accompaniment. John Quincy Adams, the 
last summer that he passed on earth, celebrated 
in his own sacred home-circle, the Golden Wed- 
ding ; an epoch which was also reached by his 
own venerable parents, walking hand in hand 
toward that clime where ''love is inde- 
structable." 

An instance of the quiet observance of the 
sixtieth anniversary I have heard described, — a 
rare occurrence in this world of mortality. The 
age of both the parties exceeded fourscore, yet 
their forms were unbowed ; there was even a 
lingering of early comeliness, and that smile of 
the spirit which gathers depth and meaning 
from long knowledge of this life, and firm hope 
of a better. They had entered, in the bloom 
of youth, the conjugal relation, and " com- 



82 PAST MERIDIAN. 

mended it in the sight of all men," by an exam- 
ple of steadfast affection, and amiable virtues. 
Three generations surrounded them with loving 
reverence, and, in the arms of one bright-eyed 
young mother, was the germ of a fourth, — a 
rose-bud within a rose. Among the antique 
things which w^ere preserved and exhibited, 
were the small salver with which they com- 
menced house-keeping, and the very same little 
cups of transparent china, in which the young 
wife, threescore years before, had poured tea at 
her first hospitalities. Warm words of greet- 
ing cheered this festival, and a fair table of 
refreshments, w^hile another was spread with 
love-tokens, and gifts of friendship. Among 
them was a simple offering, yet of singular sig- 
nificance ; a small parallelogram of the purest 
w^hite marble, wrought into a double w^atch-case, 
and surmounted in the center by a cross of the 
same material. In the cavities lined with crim- 
son velvet, reposed the two watches of the 
aged pair, the golden links of their chains 
intertwined and enwTeathing the cross. There 
were the monitors and measures of time, long 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 83 

used, but soon to be needed no more, — and the 
symbols of their own undying love, clasping 
the prop that could never fail or forsake it. 

Heartfelt cheerfulness marked this occasion, 
yet nothing that could war with the prayer and 
hymn which begun and closed it, for so many 
of the descendants shared in the piety of their 
honored ancestors, that such worship was in 
unison with their aspirations and joys. Sixty 
years to have w^alked hand in hand, helpful and 
loving, on their appointed way over mountain 
and flood, and through gardens wherein were 
sepulchres, lending the shoulder to each other's 
burdens, and keeping God's sunbeam bright in 
the soul ; to have impressed the precepts of a 
Redeemer on the young creatures who came 
into life under the shadow of their tree of love, 
and to become themselves more and more con- 
formed to '' the example of His great humility," 
was a victory that might not only be admired 
on earth, but approved in Heaven. 

An interesting celebration of the sixtieth 
anniversary of the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. 
Wright, of East Hampton, Mass., took place at 



84 PAST MERIDIAN. 

the commencement of the present year. The 
14th of January, 1856, was truly a winter's 
day, — cold, icy, and keen, — but, with a pure, 
exhilarating atmosphere. The evening lamps 
glittered early, and, at six o'clock, commenced 
the festive scene. 

The aged couple were in health and happi- 
ness. The memory of God's great goodness 
to them sate on the smile with which they w^el- 
comed kindred and friends. Four sons were 
there, with their households. The fifth, whose 
family altar was amid the snows of Wisconsin, 
cheered their hearts by an affectionate epistle. 

A few invited coevals and neighbors gather, 
with their congratulations. But what venerable 
form enters, with such a saintly smile ? iVll 
cluster around him. It is the same man of 
God who, sixty years before, had pronounced 
the nuptial benediction, the Rev. Dr. Williston, 
whose ninety -third winter sits freshly on him. 
Still, he lifts his hand, and blesses them in the 
name of the Lord. 

Four of the guests at the original wedding 
are present at this commemoration. Two more 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 85 

survive, but denizens of a distant State. It was 
a touching part of the scene when the eldest 
son, well-known as the former Principal of the 
Williston Seminary, gave utterance to his feel- 
ings of gratitude and reverence for his aged 
parents, interweaving appropriate facts and cir- 
cumstances that absorbed the attention of every 
hearer. 

Happy and forcible remarks were familiarly 
made by others, on the beauty of bringing forth 
fruit in old age, and of that filial piety which 
has kept the blessed commandment with 
promise. '' Then the young rose up and 
praised the aged, as having done well in their 
generation ; and, the aged replied by modest 
disclaimer, insisting that they had not done so 
well, but that the young should do far better, 
following more closely the Higher Pattern, even 
Christ." 

When the season allotted to refreshments 

arrived, there were seen seated around the 

board of distinguished honor six personages, 

whose united ages amounted to four hundred 

and eighty years. That table of ancients! 

8 



86 P A S T M K R I D I A N . 

What countless memories were there embodied, 
what treasures of experience, what wealth of 
christian hope. Sweet and solemn was the 
voice imploring a blessing and rendering thanks 
for that rich repast ; the voice of that beloved, 
white-haired minister, soon after called to a 
more exalted and eternal banquet. 

The closing exercises of this cheering and 
rational festivity were reading from the Scrip- 
tures, prayer, and the Doxology in the devout 
" Old Hundred," swelled by every voice. Then 
came the kind parting wishes, and the separa- 
tion at nifie, that hour wisely set apart by the 
early fathers of our country for drawing home- 
ward every wandering wing to its rest, and fold- 
ing it in supplication that hallowed the nightly 
repose. 

Rare was this sixtieth anniversary, not only 
in itself, but for the number of the aged there 
convened, — their comfortable health,— their pos- 
session of muscular activity and mental vigor, — 
their sympathy in social feeling and the faith of 
the Gospel, — their christian rejoicing in their 
children and their children's children. 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 87 

It has been mentioned that Music bore 
a part in this varied festival. The melodies, 
so often overlooked in modern psalmody, 
were . summoned, and many an aged heart 
thrilled with early, tender associations, at 
the full tones of ^'St. Martins" and ^' Lenox," 
''Majesty" and "Greenville." Among the 
hymns adapted to these antique tunes, was the 
following one, composed for the occasion. 

Three times twenty ! Three times twenty ! 

How those years have sped away, 
Since the wreath of young affection, 

Brightened on our Bridal Day ; 
Like a shadow o'er the mountain, 

Like a billow on the main, 
Like a dream, when one awaketh, 

Tinted both with joy and pain. 

Three times twenty ! Three times twenty ! 

While the years their circles wove, 
Smiling infants sprang around us, 

Scions from our Tree of Love ! 
And, with patriarchal pleasure, 

Still another race we view. 
And, in their unfolding promise, 

Seem to live our lives anew. 

Three times twenty ! Three times twenty I 
He, who gave our marriage vow, 



88 P A S T ]k[ E li 1 D 1 xV N . 

Hallowing it with prayer and blessing, 

Cheers us by his presence now : 
Faithful Pastor ! here we greet thee, 

May the flock that heard thy voice, 
Near the great Chief Shepherd meet thee, 

And for-evermore rejoice. 

Three times twenty ! Three times twenty I 

Many a friend of earlier days. 
To a higher sphere translated. 

Swells the angel hymn of praise; 
And, the glorious hope we treasure. 

Side by side with them to stand, 
Whensoe'er our Father's wisdom 

Warns us to that Better Land ! 

A pleasant custom is it to notice the birth- 
days of our coevals, and especially of those older 
than ourselves. A few words of congratulation, 
a few cheering wishes for the future, convincing 
them that they are neither forgotten nor disre- 
garded, will be of more real value than costly 
gifts. Affectionate references to the path in 
which they have walked, and the home toward 
which they draw near, aid in giving strength 
for the remainder of their pilgrimage. 

It is true that, to prolonged life, funeral anni- 
versaries multiply. Many of our way-marks 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 89 

are tombstones. We may render there the 
offering of a strewn flower, and a faithful tear. 
Yet, let the tribute be in silence, between God 
and our own soul. Why need we sadden the 
young with the ghosts of our buried joys ? 

Still, these " oaks of weeping," may yield a 
salutary influence. The poet has well said, 
that he best ^' mourns the dead who lives as 
they desire." The return, both of their nativity 
and departure may be made serviceable to the 
living. We may then give new vigor to their 
example, continue their good works, or complete 
their unfinished charities. I had a friend who 
consecrated the birth-day of the loved ones 
who had gone before, by some labor in their 
favorite field of benevolence, or in that sphere 
of charitable effort, which he knew they would 
have approved, had it been presented to them. 
The heart of the sad orphan, or lonely widow, 
was made glad, cells of sickness entered, as by 
an angel of mercy, the page of knowledge 
spread for ignorance, and salvation on mission- 
wings sent to those who sate in the shadow of 
death. 



90 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Was not the melody of such gratitude heard 
in heaven? Was it not a memorial meet for 
glorified spirits? Touched it not their pure 
brows with a new smile, that their entrance into 
high Heaven's bliss should have annual record 
of praise and thanksgiving on earth ? 

'' Again returns the day," says the mournful 
mother to her heart, " in which my darling, the 
light of my eyes, went down into silence. The 
very hour draws nigh, when, for the last time, 
his eyes beheld and blessed me, and his hand 
w^ould fain have once more clasped mine. Ah ! 
how faint was its trembling pressure : the chill 
entered into my soul. 

" Many charities did he love : for his sake 
will I cherish them. He felt for the toil-worn 
sailors, ^ mounting up to the heavens, going 
down again to the depths, their souls melted 
because of trouble.' I will send a donation to 
the good men who have combined to shelter 
them, and teach them the way to Heaven. 

" He pitied those from w^hose dim eyes the 
beautiful thinors of creation were shut out. The 



DOMESTIC ANNIVEKSARIES. 91 

poor blind shall be made glad through him, this 
day. 

'^ How his eye kindled with varying emotion, 
as he read in his young boyhood of the mutiny 
in the ship Bounty, — of the open boat in which 
Bligh and his fellow-sufferers doled out so long 
the bullet's weight of bread, and the few water- 
drops, — and, of the Crusoe settlement on Pit- 
cairn's island, from w^hence, as good may spring 
out of evil, now rises the Sabbath worship of a 
little Christian community. A token of his 
remembrance shall go forth to that lone oasis 
of the Pacific. 

" He loved little children. When he was 
himself a child, he wished to give every desti- 
tute one food, and a garment, and a book. The 
orphan institution shall be reminded through 
my gifts of his birth-day. And, if my heart 
should single out any one from that number, to 
provide for, to watch over, and to guide on life's 
future way with maternal counsels, I know it 
would be pleasing to the departed, for in such 
things he ever took delight. 

"He revered the old and gray-headed, 



92 PAST MERIDIAN. 

however poor and despised. I will seek them 
out this day, in their desolate abodes, and put 
into their withered hands, his alms, and speak 
such kind words as shall bring joy like a sun- 
beam over their furrowed brows. And, when 
they would fain express their gratitude, I will 
say, ' Thank not me ! I have done it for his 
sake \—for his sake' " 

So, the mother was comforted for her son, 
and found that solace from his birth-day in 
heaven, which it had never given her while he 
dwelt in tents of clay. 

But, for us, who, having passed far on our 
journey, and lost many friends, are tempted to 
linger long among the graves, it is peculiarly 
desirable that cheering anniversaries should 
have free scope, and predominate. We had 
rather shed a sunbeam than a midniorht chill. 
Let us render the birth of every new year, and 
each return of the season of our dear Redeem- 
er's nativity, a time of joy to every heart within 
the sphere of our influence, not overlooking the 
lowliest servant, or the humblest child. It is 
better to be harmless finger-posts, pointing to 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 93 

paths of innocent happiness, than flaming 
swords to fright away the traveler from Eden. 
Pleasant mirth, and amusing recollections of 
earlier days, are medicinal to the old, and not 
uninteresting to younger auditors. Perhaps the 
followino^ orimial Valentine, which has never 
before been published, may serve to illustrate 
the sprightliness of mind that sometimes lingers 
amid declining years. 

" 'Tis more than threescore years and ten, 

Our life's allotted span, 
Since first, in youthful, happy days, 

Our friendship true began, 
'Tis more than threescore years and ten, 

Since, as a joyous child, 
I played with you on Stratford Green, 

In many a frolic wild. 

As I look back upon those years. 

Threescore and ten and five, 
Of all the mates we numbered then, 

But we two are alive, 
We two, of all that happy band, 

Of sportive girls and boys, 
Who wept together childish griefs, 

Or smiled o'er childish joys. 



94 P A S T M E 11 I D I A N . 

And we're far down the vale of years, 

And time is fleeting fast, 
Yet, I would be a child once more, 

And live again the past. 
Years seventy-five ! how thrills my heart, 

As memory bears me back. 
To tread again, with buoyant steps, 

My girlhood's sunny track. 

But, in life's retrospect, I see 

Full many a saddened scene, 
For life has not been all a play, 

On dear old Stratford Green -, 
We've drank, dear friend, its mingled cup, 

Of sorrow and of joy. 
Since I was but a sportive girl 

You a free-hearted boy. 

We both were blest with many friends, 

How few are left alive ! 
The dearly loved have passed away. 

And yet we still survive ; 
We still survive, and it may be 

A year, perhaps a day. 
When, like the loved ones gone before, 

We too shall pass away. 

God grant that, in life's parting hour, 

Our toils and labors done. 
We may go gently to our rest, 

As sinks yon setting sun. 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 95 

When we were young, were stirring times, 

The age of iron men, 
Who rung the trumpet's warlike shout, 

From every hill and glen : 

Who stood for country and for home, 

For liberty and life ; 
' God and the riglit^ their battle-cry, 

They conquered in the strife, 
'Tis true, we were but children then, 

But we remember well, 
How many a heart was desolate. 

How many a patriot fell. 

For oft, the parent on his knee, 

Would seat his lisping child, 
And tell strange tales of battle scenes, 

And legends stern and wild ; 
And oft our childish cheeks were blanch'd, 

And childish tears would flow. 
As wonderingly we listened then, 

To deeds of blood and woe. 

But joy best suits the youthful heart. 

Its pulse is light and free, 
And so, as it has ever been, 

It was with you and me, 
And still your boyhood's sports went on, 

My girlhood's laughter rung. 
For, in those days of sternest deeds, 

Both you and I were young. 



96 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Do you remember, dear old friend, 

The simple village school, 
Where Mr. Ayres taught little folks 

To read and wTite by rule ? 
Children were timid, teachers stern, 

In those our youthful days. 
When, copy-book in hand, we went, 

Trembling, to seek his praise. 

And, when you won the wished-for boon, 

And I stood sadly by, 
You often caused a ray of hope 

To light my downcast eye, 
No matter what the teacher said. 

Fresh from your generous breast, 
Came to my ear the flattering words. 

That mine was always best. 

Do you remember that I sent 

You, then, a Valentine? 
Fine sentiment, perhaps, it lacked, 

But love breathed in each line. 
It seems but yesterday, these five 

And seventy years ago ; 
You then had owned no other belle, 

And I no other beau, 

I, in return, a ribbon got. 

Bright with true love's own hue, 

And much it pleased my girlish taste, 
For 'twas the bonniest blue, 



DOMESTIC ANNIVERSARIES. 97 

But, childhood quickly passed away, 

And hearts were lost and won, 
And you soon owned another love, 

And I, another John. 

With him, I journeyed many a year, 

Happy and blest were we, 
He lived to see his bairnies' bairns 

Prattling upon his knee, 
"We climbed ' thegither up the hill,' 

But, down alone I go. 
And soon, ' thegither at its foot,' 

With him I'll lay me low. 

Yet, not alone, for loving hearts, 

Are left in children dear. 
Who, in my downward path of life, 

Smooth each declining year. 
And oft, to glad my aged eye, 

My children's children come, 
And merry laughter rings again, 

In my old happy home. 

For you, sole mate of earliest days, 

I've cast a backward eye, 
Along the changing track of time, 

As swift it hurried by ; 
And forward may we dare to look ? 

Another opening year 

Hath dawned upon us, and its close 

May scarcely find us here. 
9 



98 PAST MERIDIAN. 

One may be taken, one be left, 

It may be I, or you, 
Still, while we live, dear, early friend, 

Shall live our friendship true; 
My years now number eighty-eight, 

And yours are eighty-nine, 
Yet, once more, as in days of yore, 

Accept my Valentine." 



CHAPTEE YIII. 



f atriotir ""^xttQlhctiQUB. 

'' The brave, great spirits who went down like suns, 
And left upon the mountain-tops of death, 
A light that made them lovely." 

A. Smith. 

What chronology is to history, are dates to 
the memories of actual life. They give adhe- 
siveness and force to impressions that might 
else be desultory, and perishable. 

What mathematics are to the mind, they may 
also be to the heart, adding stability and power 
to its better sentiments and affections. Sweet 
and salutary is it to review the varied events of 
God's providence, with regard to ourselves or 
others, on the return of their respective anni- 
versaries. By thus deepening the imagery, and 
refreshing the colors on our moving diorama, 



100 PAST MERIDIAN. 

we may renew a grateful sense of His good- 
ness, perhaps make more permanent the ben- 
efits of His discipUne. 

National anniversaries give fervor to the 
patriotism of a people. I have seen the whole 
heart of England stirred up on the fifth of Nov- 
ember, from the white-robed priest, and the 
chanting choir in the cathedrals, to the merry 
urchins let loose from school, perchance, more 
inclined to laud than to denounce the '' Gun- 
pow^der plot," that had given them a holiday. 
Yet a truer fellowship and stronger nationality 
sprang from this general sympathy of gratu- 
lation. 

The birth of our own country, so peculiar 
in itself, and so fraught with blessings to her 
children, should be warmly and reverently re- 
garded. That event might be so embalmed 
and brought forward year by year, as to 
perpetuate the blessings which first flowed 
from it. 

The fourth of July, 1776, is a date that every 
American remembers, from the snows of Min- 
nesota, to the Floridian or anore -Proves, from the 



PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 101 

sounding shores of the Atlantic, to the new 
found realm of gold. A wanderer perchance, 
on Chimborazo, or in the Eternal City, or 
among the tropic isles, or daring, with frost- 
bound sails, the ices of the Arctic zone, he 
bares his head at his country's birth-day, and 
his heart quickens with their proud joy, who of 
old exclaimed, " I am a Roman citizen.^'' So 
may it ever be, while God shall hold in his 
protecting hand, our hallowed Union. 

An aged friend, whose birth was on the con- 
secrated fourth of July, 1776, never failed till 
the close of life to rejoice in that circum- 
stance, as a heritage of glory. That this anni- 
versary should have been marked by the trans- 
ition to another world, of two of the venerable 
signers of our Declaration of Independence, 
each dignified by the highest office in our 
country's power to bestow, adds a mystic sa- 
credness to its historic interest. 

John Adams, whose far-reaching mind saw 

the incipient rights of his native land, when in 

the chrysalis of her colonial state, she herself 

understood them not, — who with boldness and 

9* 



102 PAST MERIDIAN. 

enthusiasm, unfolded and demanded them, — 
to whom, next to Washington, she first accord- 
ed the honor of her chief magistracy, lay at 
the age of ninety, on his dying couch, at his 
fair, paternal estate in Quincy, (Mass.,) where 
he first drew breath, surrounded by objects of 
his fondest love. 

It was a holy sight 
To look upon that venerable man, 
Remembering all his honors, all his toils, 
And knowing that his earth-receding grasp, 
Was on the anchor of eternal life. 

It was the fourth of July, 1826. Raising 
his head from the pillow, the last brightness 
gathering in his eye, he said, '' It is the glorious 
Fourth. God bless it. God bless you all. 
This is a great and glorious day." 

And so, he resigned his spirit. 

On the same day, Thomas Jefferson, his 
friend and compeer in toils and counsels for 
a nation's Hberty, the third President of these 
United States, at his Virginian home of Mon- 
ticello, which he had beautified by taste and hos- 
pitalit}^ received, while still lightly bearing the 



PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 103 

burden of eighty -three years, that guest who 
Cometh but once to the children of men. It 
was his fearless pen, rich in varied literature, 
that drafted our Declaration of Indepen- 
dence : 

Forth from that pen of might, 
Burst the immortal scroll, 
Which gave a living soul 
To shapeless clay ; 
Which said, "Let there be light," 
And the old startled realms beheld a new-born day. 

John Adams, among his latest words, had 
said, ''Jefferson su7mves" Yet almost at the 
same hour of the day that completed the fifti- 
eth year of that nation's life, the beating of 
whose infant pulse they had counted and reg- 
istered, both those great men expired. As So- 
lon shrouded his head and departed, that the 
mystery of his absence might add efficacy to 
the laws he had estabhshed for Athens, they 
gave to their country's first jubilee, that last 
solemn seal which death sets on love and pat- 
riotism. 

The twenty-second of February, the birth- 



104 PAST MERIDIAN. 

day of Washington, should be regarded with 
demonstrations of national enthusiasm and 
gratitude. Especially should they who stand 
nearest in proximity to those tempestuous times 
which his wisdom helped to change into the 
broad sunlight of freedom, speak of the virtues 
of that king of men, to all in the forming period 
of life. Not as a warrior, would we chiefly 
commend him ; that was indeed a prominent 
exigence to which he was called by Heaven, 
and in which he conducted nobly, but we press 
on the imitation of those who are to come after 
us, his disinterested patriotism, his patience in 
adversity, his unswerving truth, his wisdon^ in 
the greatest matters, his just attention to the 
smallest, the punctuality of his dealings with 
all men, the godlike dignity, the serene, unos- 
tentatious piety, which made a more perfect 
balance of character than has appertained to 
any hero in any age. 

Another approach to a remarkable coinci- 
dence of dates, is the death of the venerable 
John Quincy Adams, on the completion of half 
a century from that of the '' Pater Patriae," and 



PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIOXS. 105 

also within a single day of the anniversary of 
his birth. He was himself the sixth President 
of the United States, and the son of the second 
who had sustained that honor. Thoug^h he 
had surpassed the age of fourscore, he still 
kept his seat among the representatives of our 
nation, at Washington, watching with keen eye 
and unimpaired intellect, whatever concerned 
her vitality or renown. It was on the morning 
of February 21st, 1848, that he appeared in 
the lofty halls of Congress, with his usual vigor, 
and gave in a clear, emphatic voice, his vote on 
the opening question. 

Suddenly there was a cry, ''Mr. Adams is 
dying ! " Throngs rushed to the side of that 
'' old man eloquent," and bore him fainting to a 
sofa in an inner apartment. Partially recover- 
ing from insensibility, he said slowly, '' This is 
all of earth. I am content.'' — Repeating the 
assurance of his calmness and preparation, he 
relapsed into silent repose, until the evening of 
the twenty-third, when the country whom he 
had so long served, mourned at the tidings that 
he was no more. 



106 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Thus fell nobly at his post, and in the manner 
that his patriot heart might have chosen, this 
man of stainless integrity, of universal acquire- 
ments, of diplomatic training from early boy- 
hood, — and one of the few in whom precocity 
of talent continues to advance through the 
whole of life, and to ripen amid the frosts of 
age. 

But not in the splendor of the fame of states- 
men or chieftains, would we lose the memory 
of others, who, in humbler stations, gathered 
firmly around the endangered cradle of our 
common country. Some of these were our 
own sires. By the hearth-stone, they have told 
our listening infancy, of toils and perils, brave- 
ly and cheerfully borne. It becomes us to 
impress them on our children, who amid the 
luxurious indulgences of a great and prosper- 
ous land, can scarcely concieve the hardships 
and dangers by which its freedom was wrought 
out. 

Standing as we do, literally as well as polit- 
ically, on the "isthmus of a middle state," it 
seems incumbent on us to deliver unimpaired 



PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. 107 

to a future age, such records as the Past may 
have entrusted to our care. The Uberty which 
was enkindled upon our own altars, amid blast 
and tempest, should be guarded as a vestal 
flame. The voice of the actors in those "times 
that tried men's souls," speaks through us. 
Let us strive that it may enkindle pure love in 
the hearts of the young, to that native land, 
which, though it has indeed gained a proud 
seat among the nations, has still the same need 
of protection from their virtues, that it once had 
from their fathers' swords. 

The patriotism which we w^ould fain cherish, 
by keeping in life and freshness the events of 
our earlier history, struck deep and true root in 
the hearts of the softer sex, amid the storms of 
revolution. The privations which they content- 
edly and bravely endured, should not be for- 
gotten. In many a lowly home, from whence 
the father w^as long sundered by a soldier's 
destiny, Woman stifled the sigh of her own 
hardships, that she might by her firmness, 
breathe new strength into her husband's heart, 
and be 



108 PAST MERIDIAN.. 

" An undergoing spirit, to bear up 
Against whate'cr ensued." 

How often, during that long war, did the 
mother labor to perform to her little ones, both 
the father's duties, and her own, having no ref- 
uge in her desolate estate, and unresting anxie- 
ty, save the Hearer of Prayer. 

I have often reflected on a simple narration, 
once given me by a good and hoary-headed 
man, the Rev. Dr. David Smith, of Durham, 
Conn., who with unimpaired intellect, and 
cheerful piety, has passed several years the 
bounds of fourscore. 

"My father was in the army, during the whole eight years 
of the Revolutionary war, at first as a common soldier, after- 
ward as an officer. My mother had the sole charge of us, four 
little ones. Our house was a poor one, and far from neighbors. 
I have a keen remembrance of the terrible cold of some of those 
winters. The snow lay so deep and long, that it was difficult to 
cut or draw fuel from the woods, or to get our corn to mill, when 
we had any. My mother was the possessor of a coffee-mill. In 
that she ground wheat, and made coarse bread which we ate 
and were thankful. It was not always, that we could be allow- 
ed as much even of this, as our keen appetites craved. Many is 
the time that we have gone to bed with only a drink of water 



PATRIOTIC BECOLLECTIONS. 109 

for our supper, in which a little molasses had been mingled. 
We patiently received it, for we knew our mother did as well 
for us as she could, and hoped to have something better in the 
morning. She was never heard to repine, and young as we 
were, we tried to make her lovely spirit and heavenly trust, our 
example. When my father was permitted to come home, his stay 
was short, and he had not much to leave us, for the pay of those 
who had achieved our liberties, was slight, and irregularly ren- 
dered. Yet when he went, my mother ever bade him farewell 
with a cheerful face, and not to be anxious about his children, 
for she would watch over them night and day, and God would 
take care of the families of those who went forth to defend the 
righteous cause of their country. Sometimes we wondered that 
she did not mention the cold weather, or our short meals, or 
her hard work, that we little ones might be clothed, and fed, 
and taught. But she would not weaken his hands, or sadden 
his heart, for she said a soldier's lot was harder than all. We 
saw that she never complained, but always kept in her heart, a 
sweet hope, like a well of living water. Every night ere we 
slept, and every morning when we arose, we lifted our little 
hands for God's blessing on our absent father and our endan- 
gered country." 

The principal events in the history of our 
native land, arranged according to their dates, 
would be profitable to us, both as a review, and 
as an exercise of memory. Thus might we 
with more variety and freshness, impart to the 
young, that which they so well gather from 

10 



110 PAST MERIDIAN. 

books, details of the self-sacrifice, the courage 
and the piety which God recompensed with the 
life and liberty of a nation. Thus, might we 
perchance, lift a barrier, slight, yet not power- 
less, against venality and luxury and ambition, 
those banes of a republic, arrogantly polluting 
the pure sources of patriot health. 

The diligent formation, and regular reference 
to a daily list of dates founded on imiversal 
history, is a salutary habit. Every day in the 
year, has, doubtless, more than one feature of 
distinction, ''if men would carefully distil it 
out." Though not an histore fact of import- 
ance, it might probably bear the record of the 
birth or death of some individual whose biog- 
raphy it would be pleasant to review, or im- 
press on others. For if an ancient writer has 
truly said, that ''the moral beauty on which 
we fix our eyes, presses its own form upon our 
hearts, making them fair and lovely with the 
qualities that they behold," the lives of the 
great and good must be a profitable contempla- 
tion for plastic youth. 

Hints derived from our daily list of anniver- 



PATRIOTIC RECOLLECTIONS. Ill 

saries, with some tact in avoiding prolixity, 
might be rendered valuable to the young who 
surround us. Let us hazard any aspersion of 
pedantry that might chance to flow from it. 
Ridicule of that sort, should be pointless to us. 
If through adduced illustration or example, we 
may be made the medium of implanting some 
great truth or holy precept, which shall bear 
fruit for our country after we are dead, let us 
neither shrink or loiter ; for the time is short. 

The people who have past their prime, have 
reason to rejoice that so many of their own 
immediate band have been enabled to leave 
such enduring traces on the sands of time. If 
the satisfactions of rural life, the transmutation 
of the unsightly mould into fruits and flowers, 
are so soothing and salutary, is it not a priv- 
ilege to plant in the region where we were 
ourselves reared, trees, whose '' leaves are for 
the healing of the nations ? " If the founding 
of those time-honored edifices, — the pyramid, 
the obelisk, and the temple, on which the 
storms of ages have beaten in vain, are in- 
quired for with earnestness, should not higher 



112 PAST MERIDIAN. 

honor be theirs, who have been enabled to 
erect for hberty and law, columns on whose 
Corinthian capital, lingers the smile of heaven, 
as a never-setting sun? 



CHAPTER IX. 



%tzom^i'u\mniU, 

If a diamond was ours, at the opening of day, 
Because it is eve, shall we cast it away ? 

Accomplishments for old people? Yes. 
And why not ? It would seem as if the world 
thought they had no right to them. Whereas, 
having been obliged to part with many personal 
attractions, there is the more need that they 
should take pains to make themselves agree- 
able. 

Every other period of life has its peculiar 
prospect of improvement, and its prescribed 
modes of promoting it. What care is expend- 
ed to teach childhood the theory of language. 
Through ignorance, grammatical error, and sol- 
ecism, it steadily advances, nothing daunted, 

10* 



114 PAST MERIDIAN. 

or discouraged. What efforts are put forth to 
induce the young to make the most of any at- 
tainment they may possess, and strenuously to 
acquire those in which they are deficient. 
And this is right. Maturity has its beautiful 
occupations, its hallowed responsibilities, and 
an array of resistless motives to excel in each. 

Nothing seems expected of the aged but to 
put themselves decently away into some dark 
corner, and complete the climax of the great 
poet, " second childishness, and mere obliv- 
ion." Let's see about that. Why not adopt 
the suggestion of another poet, to " live while 
we live?'' 

In looking about for some relief, or loophole 
through which to escape, forgive me, if I hint 
what at first view might seem trifling, the pres- 
ervation of a cheerful countenance, and a neat, 
becoming costume. Inattention to these points 
is prone to mark those who feel themselves of 
little consequence in society, and the effect is 
to render them still more disregarded. ''A 
merry countenance," said Jeremy Taylor, "is 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 115 

one of those good things which no enemy or 
persecutor can take away from me." 

On the subject of apparel, whose importance, 
ladies may, at least, be ready to admit, Madam 
Hancock, the dignified consort of the President 
of our First Congress, used to say, " I can 
never forgive any person in good society for 
not being well dressed, or for thinking of them- 
selves after they are dressed." To a very 
advanced age, she was herself, a fine illustra- 
tion of her theory. 

The stimulant of example, also, as well 
as of precept, is strenuously brought to bear 
upon the young, in their different departments 
of study and accomplishment. For instance, 
in the science of music, requiring the daily, la- 
borious practice of years, emulation is contin- 
ually exerted. More than one fair aspirant has 
cheered her long session at the piano, by re- 
calling what was said of the captivating Ann 
Boleyn, that '' when she composed her hands 
to play, and her voice to sing, it was joined 
with such sweetness of countenance that three 
harmonies concurred." 



116 PAST MERIDIAN. 

What a striking picture ! Though waning 
years may preclude from this combination of 
three harmonies, yet be it known to all whom 
it may concern, that there have been old people 
who retained, and even made progress in what 
the world styles accomplishments. . I have had 
the honor of being acquainted with ladies, who 
after the age of eighty, excelled in the various 
uses of the needle, executing embroidery by 
the evening lamp, and sitting so erect, that 
younger persons, more addicted to languid po- 
sitions, asserted that " it made their shoulders 
ache to look at them." I am in possession of 
various articles, both useful and ornamental, 
wrought by the hands of such venerable friends, 
and doubly precious for their sakes, 

The widow of our great statesman, Alexan- 
der Hamilton, with many other feminine accom- 
plishments, exhibited to a great age, the ex- 
quisite uses of the needle, and continued to be 
admired for the ease and courtesy with which 
she entertained her numerous guests, during a 
life which almost comprised a century. 

Mrs. Madison was distinguished, not only 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 117 

while in the presidential mansion, where she 
won the heart of every visitant, but throughout 
a long life, by one of the most kindly and 
queenly natures that ever belonged to woman. 
So fully developed and unchangeably sustained 
were her social powers, and brilliance of con- 
versation, that after the age of eighty, I have 
often heard her in the large assemblages at the 
court of our nation, address to every person 
some appropriate remark, or touch some train 
of familiar thought, that would make the em- 
barrassed at ease, or the happy, happier. She 
was unwilling, even for hours, to indulge in 
the repose of a seat, lest some one should es- 
cape her notice, whom she might cheer, or 
gratify. Especially, when children were pres- 
ent, she never forgot of overlooked the young- 
est, but with admirable tact had something to 
say, which they might take with them as a 
pleasant memory onward to future years. 

In the high and rare attainment of elegant 
reading, I have never known any lady so con- 
spicuous to advanced age, as the mother of the 
late Bishop Wainwright. Her distinct articu- 



118 PAST MERIDIAN. 

lation, and perfect emphasis, made listening 
a pleasure, and drew out the full beauty of the 
thought which they rendered vocal. To her 
also, belongs the high praise of having formed, 
in early boyhood, the habits and style of elo- 
cution, of her distinguished and lamented son. 
Many precious pictures have I, in that niche 
of memory's gallery, where the hoar-frost 
sparkles. One of these, I must indulge my- 
self in transferring. It is entwined with the 
scenery of my own native place. I see again, 
a tall, dignified lady, w^liose elastic step, age 
failed to chain. High intellect was hers, the 
stronger for being self-taught, and a place 
among the aristocracy, that she might the more 
plainly show the beauty of gentle manners and 
a lowly heart. In the varieties of conversa- 
tion, which, without pedantry or display, unveil 
extensive learning and suggestive thought, I 
have never known any of my own sex, her su- 
perior ; I was about to have said, her equal. 
Fabrics of use and of taste, she wrought and 
ornamented, and with her delicate scissors, imi- 
tated the beauties and wonders of the animal 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 119 

and floral world. Children, she especially 
charmed by these efforts of her skill, as well 
as by her great descriptive powers, ever keep- 
ing in view their instruction as well as pleas- 
ure. Clustering around, they listened, holding 
their breath, lest they should lose a word. She 
also delighted them with the sweetness of her 
ancient and sacred songs, for to the verge of 
fourscore and ten, her musical powers remained, 
a source of wondering gratification to all 
around. Even no\y, those swan-like melodies 
that enchanted my earliest years, revisit me, 
rich, clear, and softened by the lapse of years, 
as if borne over untroubled waters. 

The time would fail me to tell of her excel- 
lent knowledge in all that appertained to the 
domestic sphere ; as it also would to mention 
other ladies in my own New England, who in 
the delicate elements of that great feminine 
attainment, good housekeeping, yielded nei- 
ther energy or skill to the frost of seventy 
years, but dexterously continued to touch every 
clock-work spring, on which the order and 
comfort of a blessed home depend. 



120 PAST MERIDIAN. 

It would be quite impossible here to enume- 
rate, those of the other sex whom it has been 
my privilege to know, who in their various de- 
partments and professions, derived added dig- 
nity from age ; merchants, whose mental acute- 
ness time seemed to have refined ; physicians, 
whose large experience gave such confidence 
to the sick as to prove an element of healing ; 
jurists, whose time-tried judgments were as 
beaten gold ; divines, whose silver locks were 
a talisman to the hearts of their hearers ; states- 
men, whose eloquence was never more fervid 
or vigorous than when their sun went down. 

A gentleman, whose period of collegiate ed- 
ucation had been cut short by the absorbing 
toils of a hfe at sea, having found in advanced 
age a haven of repose, resumed with zeal, the 
perusal of the classics, remarking, that after 
fourscore he had been led decidedly to prefer 
them to his native tongue, which was ''so easy 
as not to keep the mind awake." I have often 
found him deeply engaged over the pages of 
Homer, or Cicero, in the original, his eye 
brightening at every gem of genius, and his 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 121 

florid complexion pure with temperance, re- 
minding one of Miss Mitford's description of 
the beauty of her own venerable father. 

A genius for the fine arts, we sometimes see 
evolved, at a late period of life. This has 
been the case with the adopted son of Wash- 
ington, George W. P. Custis, Esq., who since 
the age of seventy, has executed a series of 
large historical paintings, representing promi- 
nent scenes in our Revolution, and presenting 
in various attitudes, the Pater Patrise, with the 
warmth of a filial pencil. This elevated, self- 
taught accomplishment, is associated with one 
of earlier acquisition, that of music ; and the 
stirring melodies of other times, which* occa- 
sionally echo through the lofty halls of Arling- 
ton, from the violin of their master, betray no 
indication that the frosts of fourscore have 
already settled upon his temples. 

The efforts that sustain social intercourse, 
and the attractions that adorn it, are in our Re- 
public, too soon laid aside. Of these, the gray- 
haired seem in haste to absolve themselves, 

as of a sin. In France, they are kept in con- 

11 



122 PAST MERIDIAN. 

stant and prosperous exercise. The idea of 
being superannuated, seems not there to have 
entered the mind of the people. The aged are 
received in mixed society, as marked favorites, 
and bear their part with an inextinguishable 
naivette. Many instances of this, I beheld, 
v^ith admiring w^onder. One evening, in par- 
ticular, I recollect being interested in vratching 
Isabey, the celebrated miniature painter, of 
Paris, who, wdth hair like the driven snow, gli- 
ded through the mazes of the dance, at a state 
ball given by the elegant Marchioness Lavalete, 
the agility of his movements not at all impair- 
ed by more than eighty years, nor the graceful 
courtesy with which he delighted to introduce 
and bring into notice, his fair, young wife, while 
frequent allusions to their home, proved how 
aifectionately their hearts turned thither amid 
all the gaieties of fashion. 

Yet it is not in mercurial France alone, that 
men ''frisk beneath the burden of fourscore." 
The philosophic Socrates, though not, indeed, 
at quite so ripe an age, used to dance, and play 
upon the lyre ; one, to preserve his physical 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 123 

vioror, and the other to tune and elevate his 
mind with cheerfulness. 

Macklin, after he had numbered a full cen- 
tury, appeared on the stage, and in the charac- 
ter of the Jew, Shylock, held his audience in 
absorbed attention. He also successfully occu- 
pied himself in revising and remodelling his 
own dramatic compositions. 

It will be said that these instances are excep- 
tions, rather than examples that we may hope 
to reach. Of some, this is true ; but from oth- 
ers we derive encouragement and hope. If at 
the age of eighty, Cato thought proper to go 
to school to learn Greek, why should we not 
consider ourselves scholars, as long as aught 
remains to be learned ? Yes, life is ever a 
school, both in its discipline and its aspirations. 
Let us take our places in that class, who both 
learn and teach. We will speak of the mani- 
fold goodness of God, which we have so long 
tested, and strike that keytone of praise, whose 
melody will be perfected in Heaven : — 

" Yet oh ! eternity's too short, 
To utter all His praise." 



124 PAST MEKIDIAN. 

Among the highest accomphshments of age, 
are its dispositions. It should daily cultivate 
the spirit to admire what is beautiful, to love 
what is good, and to be lenient to the faults of 
that infirm nature of which all are partakers. 
As sensual pleasures lose their hold, the char- 
acter should become more sublimated. While 
we would avoid that fixedness which repels 
new impressions, and resists improvements as 
innovations, let us seek the accomplishment 
of an active, unslumbering benevolence. 

Dear friends, whom I love better for the 
linked sympathies of many years, do some- 
thing to be remembered when you are gone. 
Let your words, either spoken or written, bring 
forth fruit when you are dead. Endow a 
school. Open a fountain. Plant a tree. Put 
a good book in a cottage, or a public library. 
It was a beautiful reply of a white-haired man, 
to the question w^hy he should trouble himself 
to be setting out a pear-tree, who could 
scarcely hope to taste its fruits, " Have I all my 
life long, eaten from trees that the dead have 
planted, and shall not the living eat of mine ? " 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 125 

Let us hold to the spirit of progress, and the 
capabilities of improvement of this immortal 
nature, as long as it sojourns in the flesh. 
" There is no reason," said a clear-minded phi- 
losopher, " why we should not make advances, 
as long as we are in a state of probation." 

If our pilgrimage is almost finished, does 
that create a need to forfeit our admiration, or 
relax our pursuit of ^' whatsoever is fair, lovely, 
or of good report ? " " Excelsior," may as 
well be our motto, at the close, as at the com- 
mencement of life's journey. 

If we are indeed, so near the Better Land, 
as to catch the whispers of its camp, hear we 
not, in a great voice, as of many harpers, the 
inspiring strain, "Forgetting the things that 
are behind, reach forth unto those that are be- 
fore ! " and is there not in our own hearts, an 
answering chant, as of antiphonal music, " Not 
as though we had attained, or were already 

perfect. But we follow after." 

11* 



CHAPTER X 



" Say ye, who through the round of eighty years 
Have prov'd life's joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, 
Say, is there not enough to meekness given, 
Of light from reason's lamp, and light from Heaven, 
To teach us where to follow, what to shun, 
Or bow the head and say, God's righteous will be done ?" 

Mrs. Barbauld. 

The motto here selected, was composed by 
the venerable author, after she had passed the 
bounds of fourscore. In her well regulated 
mind there was no disposition to disparage the 
comforts that linger around the later stages of 
human life. Why should this disposition ever 
be tolerated ? Many enjoyments have, indeed, 
run their course ; their lease having expired by 
limitation of time. Yet others remain, the 



I 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 127 

birth-right of advanced years, which it is both 
unjust and unwise, not to appreciate. 

We have spoken of the privileges of age. 
Has it in reahty, any inherent honors, emolu- 
ments, or immunities, to justify such an assump- 
tion ? 

Originally, it was in possession of a charter, 
sanctioned by divine authority, demanding 
reverence for the hoary head, and for the coun- 
sel of those to whom years had given wisdom. 
Modern times have indeed modified this char- 
ter. Our own republic has been pronounced 
by observant foreigners, deficient in the senti- 
ment of respect. Still, among well-trained 
and noble natures, there will be ever a willing- 
ness to honor those who have long and well 
borne the burdens of time, and a veneration 
for the " hoary head, if found in the way of 
rio^hteousness." 

The inquirer, if age has any emolument, 
may be reminded of the wealth of experience. 
Are not the whole beautiful, ever- moving world 
of the young, in poverty for the want of it ? 
searching, trying, tasting, snatching at garlands 



128 PAST MERIDIAN. 

and grasping thorns, chasing meteors, embark- 
ing on fathomless tides, and in danger of be- 
ing swallowed up by quicksands ? The aged, 
through toil and hazard, through the misery of 
mistake, or the pains of penitence, have won 
it. Safe in their casket, are gems polished by 
long attrition, and gold dust, well w^ashed, per- 
chance, in fountains of tears." 

" Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, for it bears a laden 

breast, 
Still, with sage experience moving, toward the brightness of the 

west." 

Has age immunities ? Its sources of reve- 
nue seem to be negative rather than positive. 
It has probably dissolved partnership with per- 
sonal vanity. And was not that a losing con- 
cern? There remains no consciousness of 
beauty, no feverish hope of admiration, no un- 
due excitement of competition, no bewilder- 
ment from flattery, to put out of sight higher 
purposes, or exclude more rational pleasures. 
The consequent gain, both of leisure and quiet 
must be great. Has it not also a respite from 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 129 

the toils of money-getting, from that science 
of accumulation which is but practical slavery ? 
It is surely time. Having borne the yoke for 
many years, rising early, and late taking rest, 
and eating the bread of carefulness, it would 
be desirable to taste the sweets of such enfran- 
chisement, while yet ''the lamp holds out to 
burn." 

In age, is not the over-mastering force of 
the passions broken ? Is it as irascible at op- 
position as when the current of life rushed 
fiercely on, battling all obstacles with the im- 
petuosity of a cataract ? Is it still led in blind 
and deep captivity as of yore, by 

" Love, Hope and Joy, fair Pleasure's syren train, 
Hate, Fear and Grief, the family of Pain ?" 

If a more serene and self-sustained philoso- 
phy is a natural concomitant of age, is it not a 
privilege for which to give thanks ? 

Yet not in exemptions alone, do the advan- 
tages of the aged consist. Have they not more 
aid, and stronger promptings to disinterested- 
ness, than in the earlier stages of their journey ? 



130 PAST MERIDIAN. 

The young acquire accomplishments, that they 
may be distinguished, or admired; the old 
strive to continue agreeable, that they may 
please or edify others. The man of mature 
years toils to achieve wealth, as a means of 
influence ; the study of the old is, or should 
be, how to dispense it. Their business is to 
shower back upon the earth, the gifts she has 
bestowed, having no further expectation from 
her, save of a couch in her bosom. 

Since those who have the slightest admix- 
ture of self, escape countless discomforts by 
which others are annoyed, the aged are assist- 
ed by their condition, to find that happiness 
which is more independent of ''things that per- 
ish in the using." 

" That which they are, they are, 
Made weak by time, perchance, but strong in will, 
To strive, to seek, to grasp, and not to yield." 

If to compensate for the visible losses of 
time, there are correspondent gains, less obvi- 
ous, but still secure, it concerns all to under- 
stand their amount, that they may be able to 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 131 

balance the books, ere the Master calleth for 
an account of their stewardship. An ancient 
classic has well remarked, that Nature, after 
having wisely distributed to all the preceding 
portions of life, their peculiar and proper en- 
joyments, can scarcely be supposed to have 
neglected, like an indolent poet, the last act of 
the human drama, and left it destitute of suit- 
able advantages. 

The God of nature has decreed to every 
season of life, its inherent happiness, and fit- 
ness for the end it was intended to serve. In 
spring, fair blossoms glow even among the 
grass-blades, and in summer, the fruit-laden 
boughs are clothed with beauty. Vigorous 
autumn comes wdth his reaping-hook, and win- 
try age awaiteth the Lord of the harvest. Not 
unmindful of its privileges, or reluctant to res- 
tore the mysterious gift of life, should it watch 
for his coming. 

Age should clothe itself with love, to resist 
the loneliness of its lot. Yet it sometimes 
cherishes a morbid and mistaken consciousness 
that it no longer retains the power of concilia- 



132 PAST MERIDIAN. 

ting affection. It has been beautifully said 
that " the heart is as warm after life's day's- 
work is over, as when it began ; after the har- 
ness of manhood is cast off, as before it was 
put on. The love generally felt for genial and 
kindly old persons, with their unselfish sympa- 
thies, their tried judgment, and their half 
mournful tenderness toward those they are 
soon to leave, has not been enough remembered 
in poetry. Their calm, reliable affection, is 
like the Indian summer of friendship." 

The aged, especially if their conquest of 
self is imperfect, are prone to under-rate the 
advantages that remain. Their minds linger 
among depressing subjects, repining for w^hat 
" time's effacing- fing-ers " will never restore. 
Far better would it be to muse on their remain- 
ing privileges, to recount them, and to rejoice 
in them. Many instances have I witnessed, 
both of this spirit, and the want of it, which 
left enduring impressions. 

I well remember an ancient dwelling-, shel- 
tered by lofty, umbrageous trees, and with all 
the appendages of rural comfort. A fair pros- 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 133 

pect of hill and dale, and broad river, and dis- 
tant spire, cheered the vine-covered piazzas, 
through whose loop-holes, with the subdued 
cry of the steam-borne cars, the world's great 
Babel made a dash at the picture without com- 
ing too near. Traits of agricultural life, divest- 
ed of its rude and sordid toils, were pleasantly 
visible. A smooth-coated, and symmetrical 
cow, ruminated over her clover-meal. A faith- 
ful horse, submissive to the gentlest rein, pro- 
truded his honest face through the barn window. 
A few brooding mothers, were busy with the 
nurture of their chickens, while the proud 
father of the flock, told with a clarion- voice, 
his happiness. There were trees, whose sum- 
mer fruits were richly swelling, and bushes of 
ripening berries, and gardens of choice vege- 
tables. Those who from the hot and dusty city, 
came to breathe the pure air of this sylvan re- 
treat, took note of these '' creature-comforts," 
and thought they added beauty to the land- 
scape. 

Within the abode, fair pictures and books of 
no mean literature adorned the parlors ; in the 

12 



134 PAST MERIDIAN. 

carpeted kitchen, ticked the stately old family 
clock, while the bright dishes stood in orderly 
array upon the speckless shelves. Visitants 
could not but admire that union of taste and 
education, which makes rural life beautiful. It 
might seem almost as an Elysium, where care 
would delight to repose, or philosophy to pursue 
her researches without interruption. But to 
any such remark, the excellent owner was wont 
mournfully to reply, 

" Here are only tw^o old people together. Our 
children are married and gone. Some of them 
are dead. We cannot be expected to have 
much enjoyment." 

Oh, dear friends, but it is expected that you 
should. Your very statement of the premises, 
is an admission of peculiar sources of comfort. 

" Two old people together.'' Whose sympa- 
thies can be so perfect ? And is not sympathy 
a source of happiness ? Side by side ye have 
journeyed through joys and sorrovv^s. You 
have stood by the grave's brink, when it swal- 
lowed up your idols, and the iron that entered 
into your souls was fused as a living link, that 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 135 

time might never destroy. Under the cloud, 
and through the sea, you have walked hand in 
hand, heart to heart. What subjects of com- 
munion must you have, with which no other 
human being could intermeddle. 

" Two old people.''' Would your experience 
be so rich and profound, if you were not old ? 
or your congeniality so entire, if one was old, 
and the other young ? What a blessing that 
you can say, there are two of us. Can you 
realize the loneliness of soul that must gather 
around the words, ^' left alone!'' How many 
of memory's cherished pictures must then be 
viewed through blinding tears ? how feelingly 
the expression of the poet adopted, " 'tis the 
survivor dies ? " 

" Our children are married and gone''' 
Vv^ould you have it otherwise? Was it not 
fitting for them to comply with the institution 
of their Creator? Is it not better than if 
they were all at home, without congenial em- 
ployment, pining in disappointed hope, or 
solitude of the heart? Married and gone! 
To teach in other homes, the virtues they 



136 PAST MERIDIAN. 

have learned from you. Perchance, in newer 
settlements to diffuse the energy of right hab- 
its, and the high influence of pure principles. 
Gone ! to learn the luxury of life's most intense 
affections, and wisely to train their own young 
blossoms, for time and for eternity. Praise 
God that it is so. 

'' Some are dead'' They have gone a little 
before. They have shown you the way 
through that gate where all the living must 
pass. Will not their voice of welcome be 
sweet in the skies? Dream ye not some- 
times that ye hear the echo of their harp- 
strings? Is not your eternal home brought 
nearer, and made dearer by them. Praise God. 

Several cottage homes, have I been lately 
favored in seeing, where age delightfully re- 
poses. Two of them especially, dwell in mem- 
ory, as pictures not easily forgotten. — One in a 
retired part of the most admired city of Connec- 
ticut, united every appliance of comfort, with 
elegance and refinement. There dwelt the 
saintly sage of more than ninety, looking calm- 
ly back upon a well-spent life, enlivened by 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 137 

the animation and cheerfulness of his compan- 
ion, who, though only a few years younger, 
retained in a remarkable degree, the attractions 
of manner and person, which had fascinated his 
youth. So near then- cultured grounds, that 
intercourse through the windows might be per- 
mitted, rose like a tutelary genius, the loftier 
mansion of their children, attentive to every 
wish and movement of the blessed parents, and 
anxious to accord the same protection and hap- 
piness, which they had themselves received, 
when life was new. This union of filial piety, 
with the calm enjoyment of honored age, gave 
a charm to this beautiful cottage, which made 
the heart thankful for the privilege of behold- 
ing it. 

The other, in one of our most thriving, rural 
townships, was bright with the roses of June. 
The aged pair who occupied it, were consider- 
ably past fourscore, and happy to resign the 
more exciting cares of a city residence, for 
the quiet of the simple abode, and beautiful 
garden, which their own skill and health ena- 
bled them to cultivate. Not ambitious were 

12* 



138 PAST MERIDIAN. 

they of wealth, but rich in the recollections of 
active and virtuous years, social, courteous, 
religiously satisfied with this fair world and its 
Maker. 

Methought the mildness of such a sunset, 
was more beautiful, than the uncertain bril- 
liance of life's morning. One feels better for 
such a visit, and for the sight of such people. 
Looking upon the inhabitants of these two 
peaceful abodes, I was reminded of that fine 
passage from Mountford. 

" Old age is a public good. It is indeed. Don't feel sad, be- 
cause you are old. Whenever you are walking, no one ever opens 
a gate for you to pass through, no one ever honors you with any 
kind of help, without being himself the better for what he does, 
for fellow feeling with the aged, ripens the soul." 

I once knew an aged couple, who for more 
than sixty years had dwelt in one home, and 
with one heart. Wealth was not theirs, nor 
the appliances of luxury, yet the plain house 
in which they had so long lived, was their own. 
Humble in every appointment, that they might 
keep free from debt, they were respected by 
people in the highest positions, for it w^as felt 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 139 

that they set a right example in all things. 
Every little gift, or token of remembrance from 
friends, and all who knew them were friends, 
awakened the fresh warmth of gratitude. 
Though their portion of this world's goods was 
small, benevolence being inherent in their na- 
ture, found frequent expression. Always they 
had by them, some book of slight expense, but 
of intrinsic value, to be given as a guide to the 
young, the ignorant or the tempted. Cordials 
also, and simple medicines for debility, or inci- 
pient disease, they distributed to the poor, for 
they were skillful in extracting the spirit of 
health from herbs, and a part of the garden 
cultivated by their own hands, was a dispen- 
sary. Kind, loving words had they for all, the 
fullness of their heart's content, brimming over 
in bright drops, to refresh those around. 

That venerable old man, and vigorous, his 
temples shghtly silvered, when more than 
fourscore years had visited them, how freely 
flowed forth the melody of his leading voice, 
amid the sacred strains of public worship. His 



140 PAST MERIDIAN. 

favorite tunes of Mear and Old Hundred, wed- 
ded to these simply sublime words, 

" While shepherds watched their flocks by night," 

and 

" Praise God, from whom all blessings flow," 

seem even now to fall sweetly, as they did 
upon my childish ear. These, and similar an- 
cient harmonies, mingled with the devout 
prayers that morning and evening, hallowed 
his home and its comforts ; she, the loved part- 
ner of his days, being often sole auditor. 
Thus, in one censer, rose the praise, which 
every day seemed to deepen. God's good- 
ness palled not on their spirits, because it had 
been long continued. They rejoiced that it 
was "new every morning, and fresh every 
moment." 

By the clear, wood-fire in winter, sate the 
aged wife, with serene brow, skillfully busy in 
preparation or repair of garments, as perfect 
neatness and economy dictated ; while by the 
evening lamp, her bright knitting-needles 



THE PRIVILEGES OF AGE. 141 

moved with quickened zeal, as she remember- 
ed the poor child, or wasted invalid, in some 
cold apartment, for whom they were to furnish 
a substantial covering. 

In the later years of life, their childless 
abode was cheered by the presence of a young 
orphan relative. She grew under their shadow 
with great delight, conforming her pliant heart 
to their wishes, and to the pattern of their godly 
simplicity. When they were seated together, 
she read to them such books as they chose, and 
treasured their Christian counsel. Her voice 
in the morning, was as the carol of the lark, 
and they seemed to live again a new life in her 
young life. She was to them ''like the rose 
of Sharon and the lily of the valley." 

Love for the sweet helplessness of unfolding 
years, seemed to increase with their own ad- 
vancing age. Little children, who know by 
instinct where love is, would draw near them, 
and stand lamb-like at their side. Thus they 
passed on, until more than ninety years had 
been numbered to them. They were not 
weary of themselves, or of each other, or of 



142 PAST MERIDIAN. 

this beautiful world. Neither was Time weary 
of bringing them, letter by letter, the full alpha- 
bet of a serene happiness, and when extreme 
age added the Omega, they were well educated 
to begin the bliss of Eternity. 



CHAPTEE XI 



ITffiipiritji anil liit^lUctual i'ahr. 

" Their age was like a second winter, 
Frosty, but kindly." 

Shakspeare. 

An opinion has been expressed that Uterary 
labors, or habitual excursions into the regions 
of imagination, are adverse to the continuance 
of health, or even the integrity of intellect. 
Grave charges, truly ! and examples to the 
contrary, may be easily adduced. 

Premature death, and mental declension are 
confined to no profession or condition of life. 
Too early, or undue stress laid on the organs 
of the brain, is doubtless fraught v^ith disas- 
trous consequences. Still, their constant, and 



144 PAST MERIDIAN. 

even severe exercise, may comport both with 
physical welfare and longevity. 

It is indeed, true, that Swift " expired a driv- 
eller and a show," but not until he had passed 
seven years beyond the span allotted to human 
life; and the amiable author of the "Task," 
closed his pilgrimage in a ray less cloud at sixty- 
six ; and Walter Scott sank at sixty-one, under 
toils too ambitiously pursued, for the safe union 
of flesh with spirit ; and Southey, whose reck- 
less industry precluded needful rest, subsided 
ere sixty-eight, into syncope and the shadow 
of darkness ; and Henry Kirke White faded at 
twenty-one, in the fresh blossom of his young 
renown ; and Byron at thirty-six, rent the fiery 
armor of genius and of passion, and fled from 
the conflict of life. 

Yet Goethe, unimpaired by the strong ex- 
citements of imagination, saw his eighty-second 
winter ; and the sententious architect of the 
^ Night Thoughts,' numbered fourscore and four; 
and Voltaire, at the same period, was still in love 
with the vanity of fame ; and Colly Gibber, for 
twenty-seven years poet laureate of England, 



LONGEVITY, ETC. 145 

reached eighty-six ; and Corneille continued to 
enjoy his laurels till seventy-eight ; and Crabbe, 
at an equal age, resigned the pen which had 
sketched with daguerreotype minuteness the 
passing scene. Joseph Warton, until his sev- 
enty-ninth year, made his mental riches and 
cheerful piety sources of delight to all around 
him ; Charles Wesley, on the verge of eighty, 
called his wife to his dying pillow, and with 
an inexpressible smile, dictated his last metri- 
cal effusion; and Klopstock, the bard of the 
''Messiah," continued until the same period to 
cheer and delight his friends. Isaac Watts, 
laid down his consecrated harp at seventy-four; 
and our own Trumbull, the author of '' McFin- 
gal," preserved till eighty-two, the bright, origi- 
nal intellect, whose strains had animated both 
camp and cottage. His friend, the distinguish- 
ed Dwight, author of " Greenfield Hill," and for 
many years President of Yale College, died at 
sixty-four; and Joel Barlow, ten years younger, 
found a foreign grave ; and the knell has not 
scarcely ceased, for Percival, another of our 
Connecticut poets, who laid down his varied 

13 



146 PAST MERIDIAN. 

learning, and hermit life, at sixty-one. Philip 
Frenean continued his varied labors until his 
eightieth year; and Roger Wolcott, better 
known as a statesman, than as the writer of a 
volume of poems, published in colonial times, 
lived to be eighty-nine. The illustrious Metas- 
tasio detained the admiring ear of Italy, until 
eighty-four; and Milton, at sixty-six, opened 
his long eclipsed eyes on ''cloudless light se- 
rene." Who, that now thrills, while reading the 
sublime strains of "Paradise Lost," can forbear 
to smile at the criticism of one of its cotempo- 
raries, the celebrated Waller ? '' The old blind 
schoolmaster, John Milton, hath published a 
tedious poem on the fall of man ; if its length 
be not considered as merit, it hath no other." 

Mason was seventy-two, ere the ''holy 
earth," w^here "dead Maria" slumbered, admit- 
ted him to share her repose ; and the tender 
Petrarch, and the brave old John Dryden, told 
out fully their seventy years; and the ingenious 
La Fontaine, seventy-four ; while Fontenelle, 
whose powers of sight and hearing extended 
their ministrations to the unusual term of 



LONGEVITY, ETC. 147 

ninety-six years, lacked only the revolution of 
a few moons to complete his entire century ; 
and Sadi, the poet of Persia, is said to have 
passed twenty years beyond it. 

Those masters of the Grecian lyre, Anacre- 
on, the sweet Sophocles, and the fiery souled 
Pindar, felt no frost of intellect, but were trans- 
planted as evergreens, in the winter of four- 
score ; at the same advanced period, Words- 
worth, in our own times, continued to mingle 
the music of his lay with the murmur of Ry- 
dal's falling water ; and Joanna Baillie, to fold 
around her the robe of tragic power, enjoying 
until her ninetieth year, the friendship of the 
good, and the fruits of a fair renown; while 
Clotilde de Surville, the poetess of Languedoc, 
who flourished two or three centuries earlier, 
saw the autumnal vintage almost a hundred 
times. Montgomery, the religious poet, so 
long a cherished guest, amid the romantic 
scenery of Sheffield, enjoyed life with an un- 
impaired zest till eighty-two; and Rogers, long 
the most venerable poet in Europe, has within 
the last few months departed, at the age of 



148 PAST MERIDIAN. 

ninety-four. His first gift to the world, was 
the "Pleasures of Memory;" his last effusion, 
an epithalamium, to a friend. It was com- 
posed, or rather uttered, at Brighton, to whose 
salubrious waters he had resorted, for a short 
season, in his extreme age. 

" Forth to the Altar, — and with her thou lov'st, 
With her who longs to strew thy path with flowers, 
Nor lose the blessed privilege to give 
Birth to a race immortal as your own, 
That trained by you, may make a heaven on earth, 
And tread the path that leads from earth to heaven." 

So much for the poets, who have been ac- 
cused of burning out the wheels of life, in the 
flames of passion, and the vagaries of imagin- 
ation ; though according to the theory of one 
of their own number, '' their thoughts make 
rich the blood of the world." 

" The solace of song," says Southey, '' cer- 
tainly mitigates the suffering of the wounded 
spirit. I have sorrowed deeply, and found 
comfort in thus easing my mind ; though much 
of what I wrote at such times, I have never 
let the world see." 



ETC. 149 

True Poetry has surely an affinity with the 
higher harmonies of our being, — with religion 
and its joys. Gathering the beautiful from na- 
ture, and soaring into the realm of fancy for 
what reality withholds, she feeds her children 
on angels' food. She looks to the stars, and 
hears melodies that are above their courses. 

Of wits and humorists, Cervantes fed on his 
own mirthful conceptions, to the verge of three- 
score and ten ; and Lady Mary Wortley Monta- 
gue, until two years beyond it, indulged her 
lively and capricious temperament ; Mather 
Byles, who wrapped his bright fancies in verse 
as well as prose, reached his sixty-second 
year; and Sidney Smith at seventy-six, re- 
tained in a remarkable degree his intellectual 
keenness and originality. 

Literary pursuits seem not to have been ad- 
verse to the happiness or longevity of females. 
Mrs. Hoffland and Miss Jane Porter, reached 
seventy-four, in dignity and honor ; Mrs. Cha- 
pone, seventy-five ; Mrs. Piozzi, the biographer 
of Dr. Johnson, eighty-one; Miss Burney, 
eighty-eight; Mrs. Carter, eighty-nine; and 

13* 



150 PAST MERIDIAN. 

the venerated Hannah More, died only one 
year younger, having with indefatigable indus- 
try, composed eleven books, after she had 
numbered her sixtieth birthday. Mrs. Eliza- 
beth Montague, and Mrs. Sherwood, lived to be 
eighty-one ; and Mrs. Barbauld, to a more ad- 
vanced age. Of the latter, it was said by Mrs. 
Mary L. Ware, who visited her in 1823, 
" Though now eighty-two, she possesses her 
faculties in full perfection ; her manner is pe- 
culiarly gentle, her voice low and sweet, and 
she speaks of death with such firm hope, that 
I felt as if I were communing with a spiritual 
body." 

Didactic and philosophical writers, seem 
often, in their calm researches, to have found 
refuge from that strife of thought which embit- 
ters or shortens existence. 

Plato, wove for the men of Attica, his beau- 
tiful and sublime theories, to the age of eighty- 
one. At eighty-five, John Evelyn closed 
his eyes at his fair estate in Wotton, which he 
had embellished both as a naturalist and an 
author, engraving on his marble monument, as 



LONGEVITY, ETC. 151 

the result of long experience, that '' all is van- 
ity which is not honest, and that there is no 
solid wisdom but in real piety." The diligent 
and acute Bentley, reached fourscore ; and 
Walker, seventy-five ; and Dr. SamuelJohnson, 
" whose name is a host," attained the same age, 
having with characteristic energy applied him- 
self to the study of the Dutch language, but a 
short time before his death. Scaliger and Park- 
hurst fell only a few months short of three- 
score and ten ; Ainsworth passed three years 
beyond it; Dr. Noah Webster, our own New 
England lexicographer, retained unimpaired 
until eighty-four, his physical and mental 
health, with the rich store of his varied attain- 
ments. Lindley Murray, at more than eighty, 
continued in the active duties of Christian phi- 
lanthropy ; and the philologist, Mitscherlich, 
the Nestor of the German schools, and uncle 
to the famous chemist of that name, died re- 
cently at Gottengen, at the age of ninety-three. 
One who visited Humboldt, after he had 
passed his eighty-sixth birthday, says, "this 
illustrious philosopher is still in the full enjoy- 



152 PAST MERIDIAN. 

ment of bodily health and vigor, continuing as 
heretofore, to devote himself to the interests 
of science, with wonderful activity and perse- 
verance," not having, it is asserted, in the last 
half-century, spent an idle hour. Sir Isaac 
Newton, as illustrious for Christian humility as 
for intellectual greatness, laid down his earthly 
honors at eighty-five ; and Franklin, w^ho in 
the words of Mirabeau, '' stole the lightning 
from Heaven, and the sceptre from tyrants," 
cheered us with the mild radiance of his phi- 
lanthropy till eighty-four; and Herschel rose 
above the stars, with which he had long com- 
muned, at eighty ; while his sister, whom he 
had so kindly made the companion of his ce- 
lestial intercourse, survived until ninety-eight. 
Yet it was not our intention to gather from the 
lists of science, its multiplied examples of ripe 
age and rare fame, but rather devote our pre- 
scribed limits to the affinities of hterature with 
longevity. 

The sympathies that spring from community 
of labor in the field of intellect, are salutary 
and graceful. Those minds that are above the 



ETC. 153 

petty asperities of rivalship, have often thus 
enjoyed a friendship of singular depth and 
fervor. This seems to have been the case with 
many of the distinguished w^riters of England's 
Augustan age. Frequent association led to in- 
timacy of plan and pursuit. They criticised 
each other's works, and in the attrition of kin- 
dred spirits, found that as ''iron sharpeneth 
iron, so doth the countenance of a man, his 
friend." It has been finely said of Pope, that 
he ''reverenced his equals in genius, and that 
of those friends who surpassed him, he spoke 
with respect and admiration." Of Gay it was 
asserted, by one of his literary associates, that 
" every body loved him." Even the witty and 
sarcastic Swift, shrank to open a letter which 
he feared might announce the fatal termination 
of a sickness that oppressed this friend. It lay 
long on his cabinet, unsealed, and was after- 
ward endorsed by him, as communicating the 
mournful event of his "dear friend Gay's de- 
cease, received December 15th, but not read 
until five days after, by an impulse foreboding 
some misfortune." One would scarcely have 



154 PAST MERIDIAN. 

expected such sentimentality from the fierce- 
tempered Dean of St. Patrick's ; but Uterary 
friendship softened him. The intellectual com- 
munion of Addison and Steele, cemented an in- 
teresting attachment; and the majestic old 
Johnson, though with less of mental congenial- 
ity for Goldsmith, still from affectionate regard 
excused his eccentricities, praised his talents, 
and rejoiced in his reputation. 

This amiable and salubrious element of in- 
tellectual intercourse, is by no means confined 
to any particular age or country. In Germany, 
where native and noble impulse is the least fet- 
tered by conventionalism, in France, where 
genius and the labors of literature, open the 
gate of distinction more readily than a key of 
gold, and in our own land, where more than 
in any other, knowledge is the heritage and 
glory of the people, there are many examples 
of unity of heart between those, who in differ- 
ent departments, advance the great work of 
mental progress. 

The poetic friendship of the Saxon mind 
has embalmed itself in the interwoven lines 



ETC. 155 

and lives of Beaumont and Fletcher. The 
Lake Spirits, Wordsworth, Southej, and Cole- 
ridge, beautifully attested the brotherhood of 
genius, until the "threefold cord" was sunder- 
ed at the tomb. 

Much of this affectionate, generous sympa- 
thy between gifted minds, seemed to me still 
to exist in Great Britain, and though I was 
there too late to witness it in those most gen- 
ial spirits, Sir Walter Scott, and Mrs. Hemans, 
its sweet revealings were manifested by Maria 
Edgeworth, and Joanna Baillie, as well as by 
many younger and distinguished authors, who 
still live to bless us. 

May I be forgiven if I here add a little epi- 
sode to please myself? an interview^ at Hamp- 
stead, which Memory cherishes among her pen- 
cil-sketches. 

It was a brighter vernal day than often occurs 
under English skies, when I drove thither from 
London, to see Joanna Baillie. I found her 
seated on the sofa, in her pleasant parlor, sur- 
rounded by many pictures, herself to me, the 
most pleasant picture, of dignified and health- 



156 PAST MERIDIAN. 

ful age. On her cheek was somewhat more 
of color than usual, for she had just returned 
from a long walk among her poor pensioners, 
and the exercise, and the comfort of active be- 
nevolence, lent new life and expression to her 
smile. She was not handsome, at least, so the 
world said; her high cheek bones bespoke 
her Scottish extraction, and seventy-six years 
had absorbed any charm that youth might 
have bestowed. Yet to my eye she was 
beautiful. On the same sofa was her sister, 
Agnes, whom she so intensely loved, and to 
whom one of her sweetest poetical effusions 
was addressed. Though several years beyond 
fourscore, her complexion was singularly fair, 
her features symmetrical, and her demeanor 
graceful and attractive. Between them, was 
seated Rogers, the banker-poet, with locks like 
the driven snow, having come out several miles 
from his mansion in St. James' Park, to make 
them a friendly call. His smooth brow, and 
fresh flow of conversation, made it difficult to 
believe that this could be indeed, his eio^htieth 
spring. It seems he had been kindly advising 
the authoress of '' Plays of the Passions," to 



LONGEVITY, ETC. 157 

collect her fugitive poems, from their wide- 
spread channels, into the more enduring form 
of a volume. As she felt disinclined to the 
labor, he had himself undertaken and accom- 
plished it, and was now discussing the success 
of the publication, and enjoying the high suff- 
rages of criticism, as if they were his own. 
While their cheering, joyous tones, so pleas- 
antly blended, and mental communion and ser- 
vice seemed to have given them new youth, or 
rather to have kept it perennial, I felt that the 
world could not furnish another such trio, and 
was grateful for the privilege of beholding it. 
Even now, I imagine that I hear the voice 
of that venerable man, repeating with delib- 
erate intonation and perfect emphasis, his 
favorite passage from Mrs. Barbould, who her- 
self resided in the immediate vicinity, at Hamp- 
stead. It was written in extreme old age, but 
with unfaded vigor of intellect. 

" Life! we've been long together, 

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather, 

'Tis hard to part where friends are dear, 

Perhaps 'twill cost both pang and tear : 
14 



158 PAST MERIDIAN. 

So, steal away, give little warning, 
Choose thine own time, 
Say not good night, but in yon happier clime, 

Bid me good morning." 

The power of fine writing, sometimes re- 
mains unimpaired to the later evening of Ufe. 
One of the most distinguished instances of this 
is found at the fair home of Sunny Side, on 
the banks of the noble Hudson. There Wash- 
ington Irving, having planted the seventy-third 
milestone upon his journey of life, continues 
with much of the spirit, and external aspect 
of earlier years, to increase the number of his 
literary laurels. England vies with his native 
clime in doing him honor, while in this digni- 
fied retirement, respected by all who know him, 
he watches not inactively, the shadows that 
lengthen on his path. The pen which has 
won for him so illustrious a place in the annals 
of the world, is still a loved companion. His 
elaborate Biography of Washington is now in 
the progress of publication and none can trace 
in its pages, any mark of declension in vigor 
of conception, or genial beauty of style. Long 



LONGEVITY, ETC. 159 

may he be enabled to add to his country's fame, 
and by an example of sunny age, to animate 
all who behold it. 

At a still more advanced age, Professor Silli- 
man, Senior, of Yale College, long the editor 
of the ''American Journal of Science," has 
presented the public with two volumes, delin- 
eating a recent extensive tour in Europe. Com- 
pared with a similar work from his own pen, 
issued half a century before, this yields nothing 
of force, variety or brilliance. Possibly they 
have even the advantage over their predecess- 
or. Their admixture of science, with the dra- 
pery of narrative, give them, as it were, bone 
and muscle, by which to stand erect, and move 
among the people. 

Over their author, also, now in his seventy- 
eighth year, changeful time has had little 
power. His fine manly form is still unbowed, 
his unspectacled eyes, daunted by no obscurity 
of type or chirography, and his urbanity and 
hospitality in full exercise. A summer or two 
since, he returned unfatigued, from a journey 
to the Far West, of some four thousand miles. 



160 PAST MERIDIAN 

enjoying, as keenly as ever, the varied scenery, 
adding to the cheerfulness of a large traveling 
party, and especially entering into the pleasures 
of the young, with a fresh, unclouded spirit. 
As recently as the last winter, he was induced 
to deliver a course of Lectures on Geology, at 
St. Louis, Missouri, regarding the distance, the 
season, and the toil, as no greater obstacles, 
than in early manhood. 

The accomplishment of lecturing, which re- 
quires such a combination of talent is occasionally 
among the perquisites of age. Dr. Caldwell 
enumerates several striking instances. 

"Dr. Shippen, he says, delivered after his seventieth year, 
some of the ablest and most instructive lectures I have ever 
heard from his chair. 

Cullen was a splendid lecturer in the medical school of Edin- 
burgh, at the age of eighty-three, and Monroe, the elder, was 
equally distinguished at about the same age. Boerhaave, when 
more than seventy, attracted to his lectures, crowds of pupils 
from all parts of Europe. Blumenback did the same from 
eighty-three to eighty-five ; and Professor Hufeland, when up- 
ward of fourscore, was the pride of his profession in Berlin, a 
city scarcely inferior to any in science and letters." 

The popular lectures, that so agreeably 
diversify the winters in most of our cities, and 



LONGEVITY, ETC. 161 

often attract such dense and delighted audi- 
ences, are sometimes uttered by men past their 
prime. Distinguished among these, is the Rev. 
John Pierpont, a poet as well as a scholar, 
and one of nature's noblemen; who in his 
seventy-first year, has delivered during the 
past season, his eightieth Lecture, having trav- 
eled, to meet the consequent engagements, 
more than twelve thousand miles. 

Who that has listened, as we have had the 
privilege of recently doing, to the Honorable 
Edward Everett's classic analysis of the char- 
acter of Washington, with its elegant argu- 
ments for national harmony, would imagine 
that more than sixty winters had passed over 
him, or ever forego the impression of his per- 
fect oratory and pure patriotism ? 

Turning again to those whose age shrinks 
not from the complicated toils of authorship, 
we perceive a work from the pen of George 
Griffin, L L. D., of New York, entitled " The 
Gospel its own Advocate." It was written 
after he had numbered more than threescore 
and ten, and shows the research of a mind 

14* 



162 PAST MERIDIAN. 

disciplined by the severe studies of jurispru- 
dence, accustomed to weigh contending claims, 
to throw words into the crucible, and through 
all their fermentations watch for the v/itness- 
ings of truth. It embodies the force of a clear 
intellect, and the conclusions of a long life. 
The learned author, now in his seventy-eighth 
year, still endued with vigor of mind and body, 
might in his hours of literary labor, have read- 
ily selected from the wide range of nature, or 
the familiar archives of history, a theme more 
accordant with the taste and spirit of the times, 
but religiously chose in this, as well as in a 
previous w^ork, to devote the gathered lights of 
his experience to the defence and illustration 
of that gospel wherein is our hope. 

The Memoir of the late Rev. Dr. William 
Croswell, of Boston, by the venerable Dr. Cros- 
well, for more than forty years Rector of 
Trinity Church, in New Haven, Connec- 
ticut, is an octavo of more than five hundred 
pages, and undoubtedly the most affecting as 
well as judicious tribute that a man of genius 
and piety ever received from a father of almost 
fourscore. Girding himself to lay in the grave 



LONGEVITY, ETC. 163 

the beloved one, who, according to the order 
of nature, should have closed his own dying 
eyes, instead of sinking under so great a sor- 
row, he rouses himself, and with the same zeal 
and patience with which in his hoary age he 
still ministers at the altar, constructs a monu- 
ment which will endure when brass and marble 
perish. 

An interesting catalogue might doubtless be 
constructed of authors, who after the period of 
seventy or even of eighty years, have contin- 
ued to interest and instruct mankind. Dr. 
Johnson prepared his celebrated " Lives of the 
Poets," when more than threescore and ten ; 
Hannah More wrote her work on " Prayer," at 
seventy-six ; Richard Cumberland, his attract- 
ive auto-biography, at seventy-two, and his 
poem on ''Retrospection," several years later. 
Dr. Blair, so celebrated for his Lectures on 
" Rhetoric and Belle Lettres," pursued his lite- 
rary labors to a great age, and was engaged in 
preparing for the press, an additional volume 
of sermons, when Death took the pen from his 
hand, in his eighty-second winter. 



164 PAST MERIDIAN. 

At a still more advanced age, Walter Savage 
Landor, retains the force and elasticity w^hich 
marked his youthful style, and has recently 
interested himself in editing a work, entitled 
"Letters of an American." At his pleasant 
house in Bath, England, healthful and happy, 
he delights by that peculiar v^it, v^hich in early 
days irradiated the pages of his " Imaginary 
Conversations," and gave him so high a rank 
among men of genius. 

The compositions of Dr. Franklin, after he 
was eighty, some of which were dictated only a 
few days before his death, display much of that 
freshness and simplicity, which gave a charm 
to the productions of his earlier years. 

The Rev. Sidney Smith, to the last, wielded 
a pen of power and versatility. "I do not 
consider my education by any means finished," 
said he at seventy-four. Ever was he learning 
something, not only in the intellectual field, 
but in those sciences that promote the comfort 
of domestic life, and in the healing art, that he 
might benefit his poor parishioners. When in 
his remote and ill-remunerated curacy of 



LOXGEVITY, ETC. 165 

Yorkshire, he managed to erect a dwelling, to 
construct a carriage that might bear him to his 
distant posts of labor, or accommodate his del- 
icate wife, and also provide articles of furni- 
ture for the parsonage, combining convenience 
with some degree of grace, though the materi- 
als with which he could supply the workman, 
were but deal boards. To elevate the condi- 
tion of the surrounding villagers, he devised 
gardens for them, dividing several acres of his 
glebe into small portions, and giving instruction 
at his intervals of leisure, in their right culti- 
vation. A pleasant sight it was, those Httle 
expanses of rich vegetables, their crevices 
adorned with a vine, or flowering shrub, and 
the women and children cheerfully working 
there in early morning, ere they went forth to 
the labors of the day. There was not only 
added comfort for these families, but a pleas- 
ant emulation in their own hearts, to obtain the 
prize, he had kindly offered, for the best cul- 
tured, most productive domain. 

The later years of his life were spent amid 
comparative wealth, and the clerical duties of 



166 PAST MERIDIAN. 

London, yet his benevolence and delight in 
social pleasures, did not yield to time. 

'' Should old age prove a state of suffering, "he 
says, ''it is still one of superior v^^isdom. Then 
a man avoids the rasli and foolish things to 
which he was tempted in youth, and which 
make life dangerous and painful." 

Those who have already attained that period, 
he thus advises : 

"Be diligently occupied in the highest em- 
ployments of which your nature is capable, 
that you may die with the consciousness of 
having done your best. Keep on; be ener- 
getic to the last. Take short views ; hope for 
the best, and trust in God." 

A volume of poems, recently composed, du- 
ring the short period of six months, by James 
Henry, M. D., and published in England, show 
that warmth of fancy and grace of versifica- 
tion may flourish amid the snows of fourscore. 

We give a specimen of this octogenarian 
poetry, which like the other effusions in the 
book, is characterized by a spirit of gladness 



LONGEVITY, ETC. 167 

and hope, proving that the heart has not grown 
either old or cold. 

" Pleasant are the sun's rays, 
Hill and vale adorning ; 
Pleasant are the small birds 
Singing in the morning ; 

Pleasant is the Spring's breath, 
Thro' the thorn-hedge blowing ; 

Pleasant is the primrose 
In the garden growing ; 

Pleasant is the kettle 

O'er the bright fire singing ; 
Pleasant are the joy-bells 

In the steeple ringing ; 

Pleasant is the wild bee's 

Right contented humming ; 
Pleasant is the old friend's 

Long-expected coming." 

No author of modern times, has probably 
reached the date of Lewis Cornaro, the Vene- 
tian. His three treatises on health, and the 
means of its preservation, were written at the 
respective ages of eighty-one, eighty-five, and 
ninety-one. They are brief records of his 
own life and regimen, mingled with the refiec- 



168 PAST MERIDIAN. 

tions and precepts -of a clear mind, and sound 
judgment. Their style is as perspicuous and 
sprightly, as that of a young man. They 
earnestly recommend the strict temperance and 
judicious exercise of both body and mind, by 
which he was enabled to restore the health 
which at forty seemed prostrated, but which 
for sixty years, with unimpaired intellectual 
power, it was his privilege to enjoy. At the 
age of more than one hundred years, while 
seated in his arm chair, and apparently without 
suffering, he ceased to breathe. 

The author of the admirable " Essay on old 
age," remarks : 

" The propensity to inaction which makes its insidious visit, 
at the commencement of the decline of life, is a weakness which 
by temperance, and determined resistance, may be vanquished 
and banished. Three observances are necessary : — strict tem- 
perance in diet, drink, and in emotions, — moderate exer- 
cise in the open air, and mental industry carried to a suitable 
extent, and bestowed on suitable subjects. Men of a high order 
of mental constitution, may thus render their decline capable of 
vigorous, and efficient action to a very advanced age, not unfre- 
quently to their eightieth or even eighty-fifth year." 

It might be pleasant to enlarge the list of 



LONGEVITY, ETC. 169 

those, who to the extreme point of human life, 
have continued to enlighten others, by their 
intellectual efforts. But the present purpose 
is rather, by a desultory selection of examples, 
to prove that the mind may continue expanding, 
and refining to the utmost limit of mortal ex- 
istence. The only reason to the contrary, is 
the disease or decay of those organs through 
which it receives and conveys impressions. 
By the foregoing instances, as well as others 
which might be adduced, it will appear that 
there is no necessary connection between this 
declension and their diligent use. Indeed, 
through the action of the brain, the nervous 
system may doubtless be so developed as to 
acquire even a more vigorous tone. 

The fever of literary ambition, the rivalry 
of authorship, the morbid and insatiable thirst 
for popularity, are not numbered among the 
sanitary tendencies, or worthy ends of intel- 
lectual effort. Neither of the abuse of God's 
great gift of genius to the gratification of sel- 
fish and depraved tastes, have I wished to 
speak, but rather of its unison with the high- 

15 



170 PAST MERIDIAN. 

est responsibilities, — of its open harmony 
with the perennial flow of the springs of life, 
— and of the long peace with which the Great 
Task-Master hath sometimes seen fit to 
crown it. 

Friendship for the authors who have cheered 
or instructed us, is one of the peculiar pleas- 
ures of this present state of existence. We 
may have never seen their faces in the flesh, 
yet we have heard their voices. They may 
have died long before we were born. " But 
their speech hath gone forth to the end of the 
world." We are their debtors for high and holy 
thoughts. Pearls have they gathered for us 
from the profoundest depths. Flowers that 
are ever fragrant, they strew around our sol- 
itary study. Their diadems sparkle through 
the darkness of midnight, as on our sleepless 
pillows we commune with them. Benefactors 
are they, to whom ingratitude is impossible, for 
their gifts have become a part of ourselves. 

Literature, like those fields of benevolence 
in which all Christians can agree, offers a fail' 
meeting-ground of compromise and of peace. 



LONGEVITY, ETC. 171 

It has room enough and to spare. Its laborers 
may come and go, as brethren, and not impede 
each other. They may glean in safety, all day, 
like the true-hearted Moabitess, and "at night, 
beat out what they have gathered." Perchance, 
the world, like Naomi, may listen for their foot- 
steps and bless them. 



CHAPTER XII. 



" Like living, breathing Bibles ! Tables where 
Both covenants at large engraven were ; 
Gospel and Law, on heart had each its column, 
Their head an index to the Sacred Volume, 
Their very name a title-page : — and next, 
Their Hfe a Commentary on the text." 

Rev. Benjamin Woodbridge.* 

It is an interesting study to trace the influ- 
ence of the varied employments of man, upon 
his physical welfare. Some are manifestly 
hazardous, others destructive to life. They 
who " take the sword, are liable to perish by 
the sword." They who ''go down to the sea 
in ships," prove by their brief everage of years, 
at what risk they grapple with adverse ele- 

* The first graduate of Harvard University. 



AGED DIVINES. 173 

ments. They who excite the earth to fruitful- 
ness, not unfreqiiently find added vigor among 
the rewards of toil. Would it be irrational to 
infer that they who cultivate the fruits of im- 
mortality, might sometimes gather from their 
richness and fragrance, strength for the life 
that now is, as well as for that which is to 
come? 

Among the less exposed, and more sedentary 
professions, the employment of an instructor 
of youth, has been considered favorable to lon- 
gevity. The cheering influence of companion- 
ship with the young, like an indwelling with 
fresh and beautiful thoughts, aids in preserving 
the youth of the mind ; and if in the perpetual 
inculcation of good principles, and a right 
practice, there is a development of feeling, that 
makes even strangers dear, a solace for joys 
that are withheld, or have departed, it might 
be congenial also to physical as well as moral 
prosperity. 

It would, therefore, not be surprising to find 
among those, who have chosen as their life's 
vocation, the highest interests of the soul, and 

15* 



174 PAST MERIDIAN. 

by voice or pen labored to promote them, 
many instances of healthful adjustment of 
structure to pursuit, and the prolonged use of 
those powers, which benevolence and piety 
called into action. 

Looking back to the earlier periods of Christ- 
ianity, we find the venerated Jerome, on the 
borders of ninety, and Epiphanius on the 
verge of a hundred. Bishop Burgess, in that 
remarkable work, entitled '' The Last Enemy," 
so distinguished for learned research and pro- 
found piety, says, in adducing instances of long 
life :— 

" St. Polycarp, seems to have been an exception to the com- 
mon lot, and Simeon, the second Bishop of Jerusalem, reached 
one hundred and twenty years; both dying by martyrdom. 
Many of the saints and anchorites of the earlier ages, were famed 
for length of days. Paul, the Hermit, is said to have lived 
to be a hundred and thirteen : his follower, Antony, to a hun- 
dred and five ; and John, the Silent, to a hundred and four. 
The cenobites of Mount Sinai, not unfrequently attained ex- 
treme age. In our own day, a Baptist minister, at one hundred 
and eight, has addressed a congregation from the pulpit." 

Recently also, has been announced in Eng- 
land, the death of the Reverend G. Fletcher, 



AGED DIVINES. 175 

of the Wesleyan denomination, who continued 
active in duty to the same great age. 

Bishop LesUe completed more than a centu- 
ry, and Bishop Barrington, in his ninety -third 
year, having read the usual Sunday course 
with his household, told them it " was the last 
time,^^ and ere the return of that hallowed day, 
yielded his breath so gently, that those who 
stood by his bedside, were unconscious of the 
moment of transition. 

Thomas h Kempis, whose writings filled 
three folio volumes, and whose principal work, 
"The Imitation of Christ," was composed at 
the age of sixty, reached his ninety-second 
year, not only with unimpaired mental powers, 
but with the • perfect use of eye-sight, unaided 
by spectacles. 

At an equally advanced period, was Bishop 
Huet removed, and Bishop Wilson, whose 
''Sacra Privata," still breathes like living 
incense upon the altar of the pious . heart. 
The venerated Bishop Lloyd, numbered ninety 
winters ; and at the same age, Archbishop Har- 
court, having attended divine service at York- 



176 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Minster, announced not again, beneath the 
arches of that noble cathedral, the '' Lord is in 
His holy temple," being summoned ere the close 
of the week to a more glorious company, and 
a " house, eternal in the heavens." 

John Wesley was enabled to persevere in 
his wonderful toils, till eighty-eight, having, 
before he reached his seventieth year, publish- 
ed more than thirty octavo volumes. On his 
seventy-second birthday he writes : 

"I have been considering how it is, that I should feel just the 
same strength that I did, thirty years ago ; that my sight is 
even considerably better, and ray nerves firmer than they were 
then ; that I have none of the infirmities of age, and have lost 
several that I had in my youth. The great cause is the good 
pleasure of God, who doeth whatever pleaseth Him. The chief 
means are, first, my constant rising at four, for the last fifty 
years ; second, my, generally preaching at five in the morning, 
one of the most healthful exercises in the world ; and thirdly, 
my never traveling less, by sea and land, than four thousand 
miles a year." 

Bishop Hurd, at a similar age with Wesley, 
closed a life of calm piety, by consigning him- 
self, at the usual hour, to quiet sleep, from 
which he awoke no more on earth. 



AGED DIVINES. 177 

Theodore Beza, lived to be eighty-six, and 
Hoadley, eighty-five ; Lardner was a year 
younger at his death, and John Newton, four- 
score and two. Warburton closed his learned 
labors at eighty-one ; and Lowth and Porteus 
and Simeon, completed their Christian example 
at seventy-seven ; and Richard Baxter, at sev- 
enty-six, rose from the " Saint's Rest," which 
he so touchingly depicted, to that " Certainty 
of the World of Spirits," which he serenely 
anticipated. Archbishop Seeker, at seventy- 
five, taught how saints can die ; and William 
Jones, of Nayland, and Thomas Scott, the 
commentator, passed from faithful service to 
their great reward, at the age of seventy-four ; 
and Bishop Andrews, the master of fifteen lan- 
guages, who was appointed by James First, one 
of the principal translators of our present ver- 
sion of the Scriptures, continued until seventy- 
one, his untiring toils and devoted charities. 
Beveridge, beloved by all, ceased from his 
peaceful pilgrimage at seventy, and Philander 
Chase, for years the senior Bishop of the 
Episcopal church in these United States, closed 



178 PAST MERIDIAN. 

the earnest labors commenced in early youth, 
and the pioneer bravery of his miresting age, 
at seventy-seven. 

At eighty-six, the Rev. Solomon Stoddard, for 
more than threescore years, pastor of but 
one church in Northampton, Mass., w^as still a 
zealous and effective preacher; and the Rev. 
Dr. Archibald Alexander, closed eighty years 
of Christian example, in the serene light of 
intellect and happiness. At seventeen he 
became a teacher in his native Virginia, at 
eighteen commenced preaching the Gospel, 
with singular fervor and fluency, and for the 
last forty years discharged the duties of a Pro- 
fessorship of eminence, in the theological Insti- 
tution at Princeton, New Jersey. Old age was 
never adduced by him, as an excuse from any 
labor. "There are two errors," he said, "to 
which the aged are exposed. One is that of 
refusing to admit that they are old. The other, 
that of permitting themselves to become so 
prematurely." 

Beautiful instances here and there occur, of 
divines, who have devoted all of life to one 



AGED DIVINES. 179 

post of duty, thus enjoying better opportunities 
to mature their plans of usefuhiess, and to 
see blessed fruits ripen in fields of their own 
planting. 

Conspicuous among these, was the Rev. Dr. 
Routh, who sustained for sixty-four years, the 
presidency of Magdalen College, Oxford, and 
died within the last few months at the age of 
ninety-nine. This learned and venerable 
man, preserved good health, and habits of in- 
tellectual research, until the last. A bright 
link was he, between the present and the past, 
having in youth known those who had person- 
ally conversed with Ken, Bull, and Beveridge. 

On the flourishing branch of the Church of 
England, established in America, he looked 
with a peculiarly affectionate interest, having 
more than seventy years before his death, used 
his influence in inducing our own Seabury to 
seek consecration from the Bishops of Scotland. 

The extent and accuracy of his knowledge, 
and his suavity in imparting it, were proverbial. 
His judgment was so reliable, and his self-con- 
trol so absolute, that men took counsel of him, 



180 PAST MERIDIAN. 

as of an oracle. Notwithstanding his extreme 
age, he was ever courteous to strangers, and 
accessible to the youngest person. 

An interview with the President of Magda- 
len, was something to be remembered, even by 
men of letters and distinction. " That grave 
and solemn presence, that refined and some- 
w^hat austere politeness, the invariable pomp of 
full academic costume, the spare form, alive 
with intelligence, the inexhaustible library, the 
copiousness of quotation, and immense range 
of knowledo^e and memory, all recalled the 
majesty of the past." A monument of his 
reputation as a scholar and theologian, is the 
work entitled, ''Reliquiae Sacra," a new and 
revised edition, of which, he prepared, while 
approaching his hundredth year. 

As a mark of the affectionate appreciation 
of the students under his charge, the following 
brief extract is subjoined from their last birth 
day tribute to this venerated guide and friend. 

" In studious care a century well nigh past, 
Three generations Routii's fresh powers outlast ; 
A Nestor's snows his reverend temples grace, 



AGED DIVINES. 181 

A Nestor's vigor in his mind we trace. 

Judgment not yet on her tribunal sleeps ; 

Her faithful record cloudless Memory keeps ; 

Nor eye nor hand their ministry decline, 

The letter'd toils or service of the Nine. 

Yet through his heart the genial current flows, 

Yet in his breast the warmth of friendship glows : 

On rites of hospitality intent, 

Toward Christian courtesy his thoughts are bent ; 

While from his lips, which guile nor flattery know, 

"Prophetic strains" of "old experience" flow. 

A blessing rest upon thy sacred head, 
Time-honor'd remnant of " the mighty dead," 
Through whom Oxonia's sons exulting trace 
Their stainless lineage from a better race. 
Still may thy saintly course their beacon shine. 
Still round their heartstrings thy meek wisdom twine, 
StiU be their loyal, loving homage thine ; 
And tardy may the heavenward summons come. 
Which calls thee from thy sojourn to thy home." 

Bishop White, the beauty of whose silver 
locks, and saintly smile, still dwell in the mem- 
ory of many, entered on his sacred duties, at 
the age of twenty-four, in the city of Philadel- 
phia, and there continued as priest and prelate, 
for sixty-four years, until his death at eighty- 
eight. During two years spent in England, 
after the completion of his theological studies, 

16 



182 PAST MERIDIAN. 

where he also received orders, he numbered 
among his privileges, to have seen and heard 
the voices of Bishop South, and Bishop Home, 
Dr. Samuel Johnson, the giant of English lite- 
rature, and the sweet poet, Oliver Goldsmith. 
Amid the earliest troubles of our Revolution, 
he firmly espoused the cause of his country, 
was appointed chaplain to Congress, during the 
gloomy period of its flight to Yorktown, and 
continued after its return, to be elected an- 
nually to that office, until its permanent loca- 
tion at the present seat of government. The 
fourth year after his consecration as Bishop, 
Philadelphia sustained for several months, the 
ravages of pestilential yellow fever. Like the 
plague, it suddenly destroyed almost every vic- 
tim whom it seized. The mortality was fear- 
ful. Those who had it in their power, took 
flight. Among them, was every minister of 
religion except himself. Removing his family 
into the country, he remained that he might 
lend the solaces of religion to all who suffered. 
Without regard to denomination, and in the 
poorest hovel he might be found, pointing to 



AGED DIVINES. 183 

the ^' Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of 
the world." Untouched by the Destroyer, while 
throngs around, and even the servants in his 
own house fell, he stood firm at his post, be- 
tween the living and the dead, lifting the cen- 
ser of prayer, until the '' plague was staid." 

Fearless in duty, and sincerely attached to 
the doctrines of his own church, he cherished 
no bigotry, or spirit of condemnation to those 
of differing opinions. In his meek soul, the 
prelacy wrought no pride. It made his humility 
and condescension more effective. Time, 
talents and fortune, he devoted conscientiously 
to the good of others. When on the verge of 
ninety, he was borne to his grave, the beauti- 
ful city of his birth mourned as for a father. 
Feelingly and forcibly was it said of him by 
one of another sect of Christians, that '' he en- 
joyed a revenue above a monarch's command, 
his daily income was beyond all human com- 
putation, for whenever he went forth, age paid 
him the tribute of affectionate respect, and 
children rose up and called him blessed." 



184: PAST MERIDIAN. 

He was prized 
As a pure diamond that an elder age 
Bequeathed to this : — for souls that wrap themselves 
In holy love, can never be alone, 
Each waking generation clasps its arms 
Fondly around them, and with plastic smile 
Learns wisdom from their lips. 

The Rev. William Jay, so widely known 
and highly prized for the fervor of his religious 
writings, was induced by circumstances to com- 
mence preaching, at the age of sixteen. In 
this exercise he was so eminently successful, 
and took such dehght, that it was mingled with 
his course of study, and he had delivered more 
than a thousand sermons ere he had attained 
the age of twenty-one. Afterwards, he was 
settled as the pastor of Argyle Chapel, in Bath, 
where he continued for sixty-three years, until 
his death at eighty-four, encircled to the last 
moment, by the loving hearts of his people, 
and the reverence of mankind. 

Many occasional services did he perform 
in London and its vicinity, and as his di- 
rectness and pathos were powerful in moving 
to deeds of charity, he was frequently per- 



AGED DIVINES. 185 

suaded thus to advocate the diiFerent forms of 
benevolence that marked his times. Age did 
not impair either his freshness of memory, or 
his power in the pulpit. The Rev. Dr. Johns, 
of Baltimore, who during his travels abroad, 
listened to him in his own chapel, when in his 
eighty-fourth year, thus speaks : 

" To the inquiries of American friends, as to whose preaching 
I liked best of all among those whom I heard while in England 
and Scotland, my answer has uniformly been, the old preacher at 
Bath, whom you all know as the author of the ' Morning and 
Evening Exercises.' " 

Amid the severity and variety of his labors, 
and the fame that attended them, the loveliness 
of his domestic and social character was con- 
spicuous. His delight in rural scenery, and 
the simple pleasures of horticulture was great. 
When far advanced in years, he says in a let- 
ter to absent children : 

" How many rose trees do you imagine I have in my garden? 
Five thousand four hundred and one. How fond I grow of 
flowers ! A pious female said lately, while dying, I go to a land 
of ^jmoe and o^ floicersy 

16* 



186 PAST MERIDIAN. 

So much did he desire to impart the pleas- 
ure he thus received, that it was his habit to 
give each of his servants, on Sunday, when 
going to church, a large handful of flowers, 
charging them on no account to bring them 
back, but distribute them to the poor people, 
who would value them more, as sent from his 
garden. Cheerfulness and gratitude to God, 
pervaded his daily course of duty, and beauti- 
fully has he thus expressed both : — 

" The place of my residence, is of all others, that of my 
preference. My condition has been that happy medium of nei- 
ther poverty nor riches. My friends have been many, and cor- 
dial, and steady. I have a better opinion of mankind, than 
when I began my public course. I cannot, therefore, ask, what 
is the cause that former days were better than these ? Surely, 
goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life." 

Twelve years before his death, the jubilee 
of his ministry at Bath, was celebrated with all 
the enthusiasm that an attached and liberal 
people could evince. Gifts of great value, 
and touching import were presented him, and 
clergymen of various denominations united in 
testifying respect for him, who had preached 



AGED DIVINES. 187 

the gospel in the. love of it. Original hymns 
for the occasion were prepared by the poet 
Montgomery, from one of which we select the 
following stanzas. 

" To God he gave his flower of youth, 
To God, his manhood's fruit he gave, 
The herald of hfe-giving truth, 
Dead souls from endless death to save. 

Forsake him not in his old age. 

But while his Master's cross he bears. 

Faith be his staff of pilgrimage, 
A crown of glory his gray hairs." 

Seldom have I been more impressed by the 
happy temperament and almost youthful activ- 
ity that may comport with threescore years 
and ten, than in the case of a minister of the 
Baptist denomination, met during my visit in 
Scotland, the Rev. William Innes of Edinburgh. 
He was in the habit of varying his more sed- 
entary pursuits, by a summer excursion on foot, 
among the rude scenery and people of the 
Highlands. Having prepared himself to preach 
in their native tongue, he collected large audi- 
ences, who listened with rivitted attention to 



188 PAST MERIDIAN. 

the truths of the gospel. This missionary ser- 
vice, which by most persons would have been 
deemed severe, was the only recreation in 
which he indulged during a whole year of sted- 
fast, strenuous labor. He would return from 
it, with an elastic step, and a cheek and lip 
florid with health. Until between eighty and 
ninety, he was spared to guide a beloved flock 
by voice and example. 

Rev. Rowland Hill, at an equally advanced 
age, was enabled to persevere in his w^ork with, 
characteristic vivacity and eloquence. A pleas- 
ing description of some of his octogenarian la- 
bors, is given by the graphic pen of the Rev. 
Dr. Sprague of Albany. While on a visit to 
him, he mentions his spirited going forth one 
morning to fulfill an appointment at a church, 
fourteen miles distant from London, preaching 
at another on his homeward route at three in 
the afternoon, and again, with undiminished 
energy, a third service, after his return to the 
metropolis. 

" I attended," says the narrator, " this evening, worship, at 
Tottenham Court-Road Chapel, and found a thronged house, 



AGED DIVINES. 189 

and the preacher seemed just as vigorous and fresh as if his fac- 
ulties had not been tasked at all during the day. He told me 
that upon an average, he preached about seven times a week, 
besides having much of his time taken up with pubhc engage- 
ments, though he had then reached the age of eighty-three, and 
had been in the ministry sixty-four years. "When I took my 
final leave of him, he said, ' Remember me kindly to any of 
my friends you may meet in America, and tell them that I have 
not quite done yet.' 

I have never seen, on the whole, another man to whom Rev. 
Rowland Hill could be likened. The son of a baronet, there 
was nobility impressed upon his whole appearance, and bearing, 
and character ; and yet no man labored more zealously than he 
for the improvement of the humblest classes. He had an exu- 
berance of wit, and yet it was evident that he lived almost con- 
stantly amidst the realities of the future. He was gentle, and 
mild, and winning, and yet, when occasion required, would re- 
buke sinners, and come down upon the follies of the times, like 
a thunderbolt or an avalanche," 

Mingled v/ith his originality and boldness, 
was a large benevolence, and tender pity for 
suffering. He erected Surry Chapel, and other 
places of worship at his own expense, tene- 
ments also for the indigent, and for the widow, 
and was a visitant of the lowliest shed, where 
poverty mourned, even to extreme old age. 

The ecclesiastical history of our own country. 



190 PAST MERIDIAN. 

especially of New England, is rich in exam- 
ples of consecration of the energies of a whole, 
long life, to a single church and people, thus 
giving broad scope for the blessed affections 
that spring from so hallowed an intercourse. 
Of these precious instances of pastoral con- 
stancy, the annals of Connecticut have their 
full share. In 1665, scarcely thirty years after 
its first colonists stirred the depths of its unbro- 
ken forest, with " their hymns of lofty cheer," 
we find the Rev. James Noyes, in his sea-girt 
home, at Stonington, guiding a single fiock, for 
almost fifty-six years, till recalled by the Chief 
Shepherd, at fourscore. 

The Rev. Samuel Andrew, was the pastor 
of Milford, from 1675, for a period of more 
than half a century. Besides his ministerial 
labors, he devoted much time and attention to 
Yale College, then in its infancy. Being a 
man of learning, he was an instructor of its 
senior class, after the death of the first Presi- 
dent, before its permanent location in New Ha- 
ven ; and for nearly forty years continued an 
active member of its corporation. 



AGED DIVINES. 191 

In 1694, at Windsor, one of the earliest set- 
tled towns, on the banks of the beautiful Con- 
necticut, the Rev. Timothy Edwards, assumed 
the pastoral duties, which for sixty-two years, 
he w^as enabled to discharge, with usefulness 
and happiness, to the age of ninety. Among 
his honors, should be recorded, that of training 
his illustrious son, the first President Edwards, 
one of the most devout men, and acute meta- 
physicians of his own, or any other times. 

The first ecclesiastical Society in East Ha- 
ven, had, from its birth, in 1708, for fifty years, 
enjoyed the fostering care of the Rev. Jacob 
He men way, w^hose cradle and grave were be- 
neath the same fair shades ; and after his death, 
that of the Rev. Nicholas Street, who on the 
day that completed the fifty-first anniversary 
of his acceptance of the sacred office, went 
peacefully to the Redeemer whom he loved. 
For more than a whole century did those two 
servants of God, watch over that one people. 

The Rev. Anthony Stoddard, from 1704, 
completed a pastorate of fifty-eight years, in 
the romantic region of Woodbury. 



192 PAST MERIDIAN. 

A man he was of unresting activity, earnest 
and skillful in the wisdom of this life, as well 
as of that which is to come. His people sought 
counsel of him, as of an oracle. In many of 
their physical ailments, he was their healer ; 
in their testamentary dispositions, their ad- 
viser, and clerk of probate; in cases of con- 
flicting interest, their protector from the evils 
of litigation. Nor was this versatility, and ex- 
tent of practical knowledge, so used as to im- 
pair the dignity of the pulpit, but perhaps, 
through an increase of personal sympathy, ren- 
dered it more efficacious. 

The Rev. Moses Dickenson, who died at 
Newark, at the age of more than fourscore, 
had been sixty-four years in the active duties 
of the ministry. In his earlier prime, he offi- 
ciated in New Jersey, but for more than half 
a century, was devoted to the affectionate peo- 
ple among whom he closed his eyes, and who 
paid him tribute in their simple monumental 
inscription, as a "man of good understanding, 
well-informed by study, cheerful in temper, and 
prudent in conduct." 



AGED DIVINES. 193 

The Rev. Solomon Williams, took charore of 
the church at Lebanon, somewhat more than half 
a century before our Revolution, having scarcely 
reached the age of twenty-one. Other pro- 
fessions might have allured him, for he was a 
distinguished scholar at Harvard University, 
where he graduated at eighteen ; but the choice 
of his heart was theology. Fifty-four years, 
did he faithfully teach and serve that people. 
If there were differences to be composed among 
them, he was their peace-maker. Their pas- 
sions were wont to yield to his mildness, and 
force of reasoning. Unassuming, yet fearless, 
his gravity was mingled with a serene cheer- 
fulness, readily beaming out into pleasantry, 
and it was sententiously affirmed of him, by 
one qualified to judge, that he was through his 
whole clerical course, ^^ so affable that all might 
approach him, yet so dignified that none could 
do so without respect." 

The senior Governor Trumbull, a man of 
kindred excellence, and long one of the com- 
municants in his church, characterizes him as 

" that eminently learned and pious divine." In 
17 



194 PAST MERIDIAN. 

a letter to his distinguished son, the second 
Governor of that name, dated in the spring of 
1776, he thus touchingly announces his de- 
cease : — 

" Alas ! he is gone from us. To the last, he was calm, pa- 
tient and resigned. Let us follow him as he followed our Lord 
and Master, Jesus Christ. It will not be the fault of our dear 
departed Teacher, if we have not profited under his instructions. 
His friendship hath been one of the great comforts of my life." 

The same fair, rural township, where his 
ashes repose, was the birth-place of the Rev. 
Dr. John Smallej, for more than sixty years 
the beloved pastor at Berlin. For this long 
period he was exhibiting in that one spot, the 
beauty of Christian example, enforced by 
energy in the pulpit, knowledge of human 
nature, and soundness of judgment, in the 
daily intercourse of life. At the age of eighty- 
six, Death unbraced his armor, and taught him 
the triumph-song, — " thanks be unto God, w^ho 
giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus 
Christ." 

The Rev. Dr. Benjamin Trumbull, was or- 
dained at North Haven, in 1760, and contin- 



AGED DIVINES. 195 

ued to discharge pastoral duty, with great fidel- 
ity, among the same people, for sixty years ; 
attaining himself, the age of fourscore and four. 
To his ministerial toils, he added those of au- 
thorship, bequeathing to posterity, the " History 
of Connecticut," in two volumes octavo ; a 
''History of the United States," not entirely 
finished, with other works on theological sub- 
jects. The patient research in accumulating 
facts and statistics, and the persevering labor, 
requisite to the accurate historian, and which 
no other wTiter can fully comprehend, he pos- 
sessed in full measure. Venerated by all his 
cotemporaries, his pen and life wrought out the 
same memorial of intellectual eminence and 
saintly piety. 

The Rev. Dr. Andrew Lee, from 1768, offi- 
ciated as the pastor of Hanover, sixty-two 
years, unaided and alone, and sixty-four, with 
the occasional assistance of a colleague. Grav- 
ity, and "sound speech, that needeth not 
to be ashamed," were among the elements 
of his character. So were, also, contentment 
with his lot, and its duties, and an aversion to 



196 PAST MERIDIAN. 

change, from principle. To a young minister, 
who consulted him on the subject of taking a 
new parish, saying that it would '' help his 
stock of sermons," he replied. 

" Will it help your stock of grace, brother ? 
Or would it help to build up the churches, if all 
their pastors turned itinerants, to save them- 
selves the trouble of study?" 

In his eighty-eighth year, he gave his last 
blessing to the rural scenes of his love and toil, 
and entered into the ^'rest that remaineth for 
the people of God." 

And now, suffer me to pause by an unassu- 
ming, sacred edifice, overshadowed by tow- 
ering ledges of gray rock, at whose base 
glide the bright waters of the Yantic. From 
that pulpit, while one hundred and seventeen 
years, notched their seasons upon those cliffs, 
and generation after generation yielded to the 
sickle of time, the voice of but t7V0 spiritual 
guides were heard, teaching the way of salva- 
tion. Of one, the fathers have told me— the other, 
shed the baptismal water on my infancy, and 
drew my youthful feet within the fold of Christ. 



AGED DIVINES. 197 

Dr. Benjamin Lord, born in 1693, took 
charge of the church at Norwich, in 1717, con- 
tinuing there for sixty-seven years, until his 
death in his ninety-second year. Though he 
attained such longevity, his constitution w^s 
not vigorous, and the measure of health that 
he enjoyed, especially in early life, seemed the 
result of care, rather than of native strength. 
Still this prudence never withheld him from 
any duty of his sacred profession, for self was 
forgotten, w^hen his Master called. Like an 
aifectionate father with his children, he dwelt 
among his people. "In their hearts I have 
lived," said he, '' and they in mine." 

At the age of seventy-four, he preached his 
half-century sermon, apparently possessed of 
more physical endurance than in his prime, and 
also, a sixty-fourth anniversary sermon, when 
in his eighty-ninth year. Emphatically might 
it have been said of him, '' they that wait upon 
the Lord shall renew their strength." 

Dimness, in the later years of his ministry, 
gathered over his sight. Yet still he sat in the 
accustomed chair in his study, and wrote his 
11* 



198 PAST MERIDIAN. 

discourses, partially by the sense of feeling, 
guiding, as well as he was able, the course of 
his lines upon the paper, with the fingers of his 
left hand. Then a gentle grand-daughter, who 
greatly loved him, would read slowly to him, 
with her sweet clear voice, what he had com- 
posed, until it was so impressed upon his mem- 
ory, that he could deliver it with his wonted 
fluency. Fitting scene for a painter, that man, 
so meekly beautiful, his hoary head slightly 
declined, listening to his own sacred themes, 
from the filial lips of the fair-haired maiden. 
Indeed, his flock, who were pleased with what- 
ever their old Shepherd did, said his sermons 
were even better than before he became blind, 
for the great labor of transcribing, gave 
force of condensation, and his natural fullness 
of thought and language, sometimes approached 
redundancy. Though of a gentle spirit, he 
was occasionally earnest and authoritative in 
demanding obedience to the requisitions of the 
Gospel. 

Difference of religious opinion, in those days, 
as well as in our own, sometimes interrupted 



AGED DIVINES. 199 

Christian intercourse. A degree of estrange- 
ment, had been thus permitted to exist, between 
him and the minister of an adjacent township. 
But the hallowed influence of age, and the ap- 
proach to a clime of perfect harmony, melted 
the shades of doctrine, and the ice of preju- 
dice. He could not bear that any cloud should 
obscure the sunlight of charity, and remember- 
ing this one instance of an alienated friend, 
determined himself to make advances for rec- 
onciliation. An interview was requested, and 
when the saintly old man, saw the younger one 
approaching, he rose to meet him, and taking 
both his hands, said with a tenderness that 
melted those present to tears, " Brother under- 
neath thee be the Everlasting Arms. May we 
dw^ell together where love is eternal." 

With what affectionate reverence did the 
people watch their blessed minister, as when 
past the age of ninety, having for almost sev- 
enty years, spread before them the riches of 
the Gospel, and besought them to be recon- 
ciled to God, he was led in his feebleness, Sun- 
day after Sunday, to ascend the pulpit stairs, 



200 PAST MERIDIAN. 

and pronounce the benediction. When he 
sometimes said, with trembling tones, and the 
smile as of an angel, '' I am now ready to be 
offered up : the time of my departure is at 
hand," though every soul among them, might 
have responded, "Thou hast fought the good 
fight, thou hast kept the faith," or listened 
for a voice from above, " Henceforth, there is 
laid up for thee a crown of righteousness," yet 
in the depth of their love, they were ready 
rather to weep. 

" Like flock bereft of shepherd, when snows shut out the day." 

By his side, attentive to every movement, 
anxious to relieve him from every care, stood 
his young colleague, the Rev. Joseph Strong. 
Gray-headed men, who remembered his ordi- 
nation, have described it as a scene, strikingly 
impressive. The concourse was large and at- 
tentive, the music devout and elevating The 
candidate about to receive the sacred vows, 
was surrounded by many elders in the ministry. 
The preacher selected for the occasion, was 
his own brother. Rev. Dr. Nathan Strong, for 



AGED DIVINES. 201 

more than forty years, pastor of the First Con- 
gregational church in Hartford, and one of the 
most distinguished and eloquent men of his 
times. His text was from the sublime prophet. 
" How beautiful upon the mountains, are the 
feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that 
publisheth peace, that saith unto Zion, thy God 
reigneth." The rich and tender tones of his 
voice trembled with feeling, as at the close he 
said: 

" My dear brother, now may I address you by that endearing 
epithet, in all senses. We received our being, under God, from 
the same parents, were educated by the same nurturing kind- 
ness, have professed obedience to the same glorious Master, and 
this day introduces you as a fellow-laborer in his vineyard. 
Very pleasant hast thou been unto me, my brother ; and never 
was my joy greater in beholding thee, than on this day's solem- 
nities. Long may thy feet be beautiful on these mountains of 
Zion." 

Still deeper was the emotion, when the father 
of these two ministers, himseJ.f long the es- 
teemed pastor of a neighboring township, came 
forward, and solemnly charged this his young 
son, to be faithful to the high trust committed 
to him, in the presence of men, and of angels. 



202 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Pointing to his predecessor ia that pulpit, 
bending under the weight of years, yet from 
whose dim eye beamed a Hght that earth might 
not darken, he adjured him to " serve with that 
beloved and venerated man, as a son with the 
father, as Timothy with Paul, the aged." 

A model of reverent and filial regard was 
the whole intercourse of this youthful colleague 
with the aged Shepherd, until he exchanged his 
pastoral staff, for a " seat at the Redeemer's foot- 
stool." The Rev. Dr. Strong of Norwich, was a 
man of greatbenevolence, and eminently success- 
ful in preserving the unanimity and respect of his 
people. I hear now, in memory's echo, the in- 
flections of his voice, in his wonderfully solemn, 
concise prayer, or when he comforted the 
mourners. I imagine that I still see him, as he 
passed in the streets ; his tall form, his stately 
movement, the faultless neatness of his cos- 
tume. The rudest boy hushed himself, and 
grew demure, as he approached. At school 
visitations, he entered as a superior being. 
We, children, strove to be perfect at our recita- 
tions, and maintained the most unexceptionable 



AGED DIVINES. 203 

demeanor in his presence. A word from him, 
was a thing to be boasted of, and always worth 
treasuring. The high respect, paid in those 
days to the teachers of reUgion, was his with- 
out a drawback ; so gentlemanly was he at all 
times, so perfect in social intercourse, and in all 
life's beautiful duties. Never for the sake of 
popularity, did he lay aside the dignity apper- 
taininor to an ambassador of God. All his in- 
fluence w^as consecrated on that altar where 
his heart was laid in youth. It was sacred to 
the good order, the improvement, the private 
and public virtue of the community among 
whom his lot was cast. Thus he continued, a 
benefactor to all around, until in the fifty-sev- 
enth year of his ministry, and the eighty-second 
of his life, the voice of grieving affection said, 
^Hhe memory of the just is blessed." 

Ilis fourscore years 
Sate lightly on him, for his heart was glad, 
Even to its latest pulse, with that blest love. 
Home-nurtured and reciprocal, which girds 
And garners up, in sorrow and in joy. 

The Rev. John Tyler, was the first regularly 



204 PAST MERIDIAN. 

settled clergyman of the Episcopal church, in 
Chelsea, the southern section of my native 
city. He had been educated in Congregation- 
alism, the prevalent denomination of the State, 
but embracing the doctrines of the Church of 
Enorland, crossed the ocean in 1768, to receive 
ordination, and the following year returned, and 
entered on the duties of the priesthood. During 
the vi^ar of the Revolution, when the mind of 
the whole country was so embittered against 
the Mother Land, that even her Liturgy did 
not escape odium, his church was closed for a 
period of three years ; but a band of faithful 
worshippers gathered in his own house, where 
divine service was performed every Sunday, 
without molestation. So conciliatory was his 
manner, and so consistent his piety, that when 
the passions of men ran highest, he was res- 
pected as a true servant of the Prince of Peace. 
Conscientious and unshrinking in duty, he 
still bore upon his life and his brow, the motto, 
" giving no offence in anything, that the minis- 
try be not blamed." 

The establishment of a new sect, in the im- 



AGED DIVINES. 205 

mediate vicinity of others, long accustomed to 
priority and power, requires both discretion and 
tolerance. These virtues seem to have been 
here, in mutual exercise, from the beginning. 
Invitations to Episcopalians to hold their festi- 
vals in the more spacious Congregational meet- 
ing-house, were repeatedly given, and cordially 
accepted. At length an instance of reciprocity 
occurred, worthy of remembrance. In the 
year 1794, a sweeping conflagration destroyed 
the place of worship of the Congregationalists, 
and the parish of Christ Church, in sym- 
pathy, voted to accommodate their bereaved 
neighbors in their own edifice, the pas- 
tor of each denomination officiating alter- 
nately, one half of every Sunday. This 
arrangement of Christian hospitality and cour- 
tesy, subsisted for several months in perfect 
harmony, and w^as acknowledged by a public 
expression of gratitude^ inserted in the records 
of both societies. 

Good Mr. Tyler, in the benevolence of 
his nature, aimed to relieve bodily as well 
as spiritual ills, and became so skillful in ex- 

18 



206 PAST MERIDIAN. 

extracting the spirit of health from the plants 
of his garden, and roots of the forest, as often 
to become the healer of the suffering poor. 

In his own family he cultivated the percep- 
tion and power of melody. Chanted hymns 
in sweet accordance hallowed their mornino^ 
and evening devotions. Music, nursing holy 
thought, dwelt among them as a bird of heaven. 

One who observed the sweet countenances, 
and amiable deportment of his children, in- 
quired if he pursued any peculiar mode of ed- 
ucation, to produce so happy a result. He 
replied : 

" If anything disturbs their temper, I say to them shig ; and 
if I hear them speaking against any person, I call them to sing 
to me, and so they seem to have sung away all clouds of discord, 
and every disposition to scandal." 

He was possessed of persuasive eloquence, 
as a preacher, and a voice singularly sweet 
in its modulations. With meekness he 
bowed himself down to the griefs of others, 
while his devotion uplifted and upheld them. 
It was in his silver, plaintive tones, that I first 
heard the burial service of the Church of 



AGED DIVINES. 207 

England. We stood by the open grave of a 
school-mate, suddenly smitten in her young 
bloom. Having neither of us brother or sister, 
we had striven to make up that deficiency to 
each other, till a great love had sprung up be- 
tween us. As they laid her fair head beneath 
the broken summer turf, and uprooted grass- 
fiowers, that tuneful voice turned the grief 
and the silence, into such melodies as angels 
use. Through a flood of childhood's tears, I 
said to my mother, " Let that same be read 
over me, when I am dead." 

Afterwards, some of our young band, ac- 
coimted it a privilege, to be permitted to take a 
winter walk of four miles, (two going, and 
two returning,) to hear that godly man conduct 
the solemn festivities of Christmas. The last 
time I heard his voice of sweetness, was with 
the emotion which has never yet been transla- 
ted into words : when the bride, about to leave 
father and mother, stands by his side, who is 
to be henceforth " her more than brother, and 
her next to God." When he imposed that hal- 



208 PAST MERIDIAN. 

lowed vow, which Death alone can sever, he was 
weak and tremulous with age. 

On his monument, amid the beautiful com- 
bination of rocks, woods and waters, where so 
long his favored lot was cast, may be read the 
following inscription : 

" Here lie interred, the earthly remains of the Rev. John Tyler, 
for fifty-four years Rector of Christ's Church in this city. Hav- 
ing faithfully fullfilled his ministry, he was ready to be dissolved, 
and to be with Christ. His soul took its flight, Jan 20th, 1823, 
when he had reached the eighty-first year of his age." 

Among other clergymen of the Episcopal 
Church, who have consecrated longevity, and 
faithful labor, to the benefit of one people, but 
of whose distinctive lineaments of character I 
am not in possession, were the Rev. John 
Beach, who continued at Newtown, from his 
ordination in 1723, for half a century; the 
Rev. Dr. Bela Hubbard, at New Haven, from 
1764, for forty-eight years ; and the venerable 
Dr. Mansfield, from 1746, at Derby, for the 
unusually long period of seventy-four years, 
himself reaching on life's dial-plate, the patri- 
archal point of almost a century. 



AGED DIVINES. 209 

Give praise to God, from whom proceeds 

Each gift and purpose high, 
Strength to the pastor wise and pure. 
Strength to the aged to endure, 
Strength to the saint to die. 

The Rev. John Noyes, accepted the charge 
of the Congregational church, at Norfield, or 
Weston, as it is now called, in 1786, at the age 
of twenty-four. Emphatically his work was 
his delight, and it was said of him that "his 
smile was without a cloud, like the angel stand- 
ing in the sun." The love of his people, as well 
as of an extensive circle of friends, followed him 
through life, and a part of his eulogy in death, 
was, that " he had no enemy." Having com- 
menced to preach before his ordination, he had 
been more than sixty years engaged in the 
ministry, and died at the age of eighty-four. 
He gave a half centennial sermon, and prepared 
one for his sixtieth anniversary. But between 
his laying down of the pen, and his entrance 
into the pulpit. Death came, and the valedictory 
was read by other lips. In it he mentions, that 
though ill-health, occasioned by over-exertion, 

18* 



210 PAST MERIDIAN. 

had compelled him to an interval from stated 
pastoral duty, he had '' never since his ordina- 
tion, changed his residence." His example was 
in accordance with the opinion that " a long-con- 
tinued ministry, under the same pastor, better 
promotes the stability of the churches, the 
soundness of faith, and the healthful growth 
of piety, than one that is subject to frequent 
add fitful changes." 

The Rev. Levi Nelson, ordained at Lisbon, 
at the age also of twenty-four, proved a most 
faithful, and acceptable laborer in the vineyard 
of his Lord. Truly he was a man of a sincere 
and upright spirit. In the half century sermon, 
delivered to his one only flock, he mentions 
having given them from the pulpit, nearly five 
thousand sermons, and that but one of the com- 
municants who welcomed him at his arrival, 
was then in the land of the living. Feelingly 
and reverently he alludes to the aged por- 
tion of the congregation, w^ho attended so 
punctually his Sabbath services, ''not despi- 
sing his youth." 



AGED DIVINES. 211 

" Most of them seemed to possess a deep tone of piety. To 
this day, I love to think of their saintly appearance in the 
House of God, of the seats they occupied, and their significant 
expression of approbation of the word of truth." 

Rev. Dr. Nathan Perkins, became the minis- 
ter at West Hartford, in 1772, at the age of 
twenty-three. He was a graduate of Prince- 
ton College, and studied his profession, under 
the venerable Dr. Lord, of Norwich. The 
people had been divided before his entrance 
among them, and it is no slight proof of the 
discretion of so young a man, that following as 
he did, twenty candidates, each of whom had 
some partial adherent, he should concentrate 
and eventually render permanent, the affec- 
tions of the whole people. More than sixty- 
five years did he serve them, never having been 
settled elsewhere, though he declined other al- 
luring calls. They appreciated his superior 
talents, his ready zeal for their good, his deep, 
unaffected piety. His influence over them, 
deepened as it was by time, became unbounded, 
for his contemplative, well balanced mind, 
being capable of ruling itself, had the inherent 



212 PAST MERIDIAN. 

power of ruling others. Mild in his tempera- 
ment, and friendly to life's innocent enjoyments, 
those who had been favored with intimate in- 
tercourse, said they had never seen him moved 
to angrer. 

Whenever, and wherever his people desired 
to hear the truths of the gospel, he was ready 
to address them, either in church or in school- 
house. Cherishing the love of literature, and 
learning, for which he was early distinguished, 
he delighted in the instruction of youth, and 
aided many in their preparatory classical train- 
ing, as well as in theological studies. 

His manners w^ere admirably adapted to win 
and maintain reverence both of young and old. 
He possessed a high-toned self-respect, a sen- 
sitiveness to clerical propriety in the smallest 
things, yet softened by Christian urbanity, and 
graced by the politeness of a gentleman of the 
old school. One who had known him from 
boyhood says : 

" The impression stamped deep upon my soul, from the entire 
being, spirit, and conduct of that man, is reverence for the 
Christian ministry, and unbounded honor for the gospel of Jesus 
Christ." 



AGED DIVINES. 213 

He was a clear writer, and a pleasant per- 
suasive speaker : in his distinct, deliberate 
utterance, every word was audible, and every 
thought had its full force. He preached a fifti- 
eth and sixtieth anniversary sermon, and in re- 
viewing the national changes which he had 
witnessed, remarks : — 

"I have lived to see great revolutions in the world, in our 
ovrn country, in commerce, and in mediums of trade. I have 
seen the evils of vrar, — my native Land bleeding at every pore, 
and the prospect darker than midnight gloom. I have seen the 
mighty conflict that achieved our independence. I have seen 
the time of framing a national constitution of government, when 
all wise men, and able statesmen trembled." 

The compensation of his services, was small, 
one hundred pounds annually; but being in 
possession of a considerable patrimonial for- 
tune, he was enabled to indulge the promptings 
of benevolence. These were a part of his 
nature. 

"I am determined," said he, "that though I may die a poor 
man, I will die a generous one." 

His practice was uniform with this resolu- 



214 PAST MERIDIAN. 

tion. In contrasting the blessedness of giving, 
with that of receiving, he remarked : 

"I have always wondered, why Avarice, proceeding on its 
own plan of accumulating to itself the greatest quantity of good, 
never adopted benevolence as the basis of its action." 

He occupied but one abode, a parsonage 
w^hich he himself purchased, large, plain, com- 
modious, peacefully overshadowed by trees, and 
not inconsistent with simple elegance. Thither, 
in his prime of manhood, he led a gentle bride 
of seventeen, the daughter of a neighboring 
clergyman. A proficient was she in that house- 
hold science which ensures comfort and com- 
mands respect, and also, in the higher lore of 
living, earnest piety. There, while sixty-three 
years drew over them, they exhibited in beau- 
tiful fidelity, all the conjugal and paternal 
virtues. 

There it was once my privilege to see them. 
Eighty-six years had he numbered, yet his 
stately form yielded not to time, and the silver 
hair receding from his broad crown, floated light- 
ly and gracefull}^ down the temples toward the 



AGED DIVINES. 215 

shoulders. I was charmed with his afFabihty and 
dignity, and his saintly words of the life to 
come. She too, the sharer and heightener of 
all his joys was still of a comely aspect, cheer- 
ful, and full of Christian courtesy. Scarcely 
ever in her long life had she been so ill, as to 
commit to other hands, the domestic policy that 
she understood and loved. But at last, sick- 
ness came. Pulmonary consumption, with its 
fiery shaft, and suffocating pang, smote her. 
Many months she endured that wasting agony, 
until the " bones that were not seen, stood 
out." 

Full of tender sympathy, yet as one amazed, 
the aged servant of God regarded her, who 
had so long been the light of his home, and 
heart. Like the Apostle Elliot, it seemed not 
to have occurred to him, that the fresher spirit, 
the younger yoke-fellow, should be first sum- 
moned. But he took his stand beside her, to 
strengthen her while she suffered the will of 
God. By her bed, he studied and wrote his 
sermons, and when she saw his noble brow ra- 
diant with holy thought, she uplifted her faith 



216 PAST MElilDIAN. 

and followed him. He spoke blessed things to 
her of the Redeemer of Man, patient unto 
death, till she forgot her pain. Night and day 
he girded himself afresh from the armory of 
heaven, that he might uphold her, who battled 
more and more feebly with the Destroyer. 
Into the valley of the shadow of death, as far 
as mortal foot might go, he followed her. 

When all was over, he repined not. His 
mourning was subdued, like the servant who 
reveres his Lord's will. But the charm of 
earth was broken. 

" To the afflicted, she was always sympathizing," said the be- 
reaved husband, " to benefactors, thankful, to those in want, 
beneficent, studying the peace, harmony, and good of all under 
my pastoral care ; she lived beloved, and died lamented, in the 
full hope of a blessed immortality." 

When the falling leaf was taking its first 
autumnal tint, she departed. Every day after- 
ward, however deluo^ed the earth mio^ht be 
with rain, or drifted with snow, that aged man 
went to spend a little time at her grave. Every 
day, except that which God had set apart for his 
own worship ; then he felt that his duties as an 



AGED DIVINES. 217 

ambassador of heaven, were higher than his 
private griefs. Four months passed, and soon 
after the dawning of the New Year, as he was 
on his way to the sanctuary, a messenger invis- 
ible to mortal eye, met him, and said, '' Come 
up higher." Ere the next Sabbath, he was 
laid by her side. 

Manifestly was his prayer answered that he 
might not outlive his usefulness. Till his 
eighty-ninth year he was fit for faithful service. 
Only five days did the failing flesh hold the 
spirit from its home. During that period he 
spoke not. Paralysis of the throat, was his 
form of dismission. But with the eye, and the 
smile of one ready for a glorious existence, he 
held communion with those around, and rec- 
ompensed the daughter, who leaving her own 
family, came and took care of him with the 
tenderest love. Perchance, in that pause of 
silence, the waiting soul, disengaging itself 
from the love of earth, w^as better fitted to join 
the great song of the redeemed. 

The Rev. Dr. Calvin Chapin, was ordained 
at Rocky Hill, in 1794, where he continued 

19 



218 PAST MERIDIAN. 

fifty-seven years, until his death, which took 
place within a few months of his eighty- eighth 
birth-day. His naturally strong constitution 
had derived additional vigor from an agricul- 
tural training, the first twenty years of his life 
having been spent on the paternal farm. The 
same habits of zealous industry transferred to 
scholastic study, caused him to excel in that 
department. His attainments were afterwards 
deepened and matured by passing two years as 
the instructor of a school in Hartford, and 
nearly three as a tutor in Yale College. He had 
great fondness for the employment of imparting 
knowledge, — and always referred with pleasure 
to the period of time, thus devoted. 

He pursued theological studies with the Rev. 
Dr. Perkins of West Hartford, and entered on 
ministerial duty, with a deep sense of responsi- 
bility to his Divine Master. 

"I am not aware, said he, — that in preparing a sermon, I ever 
inquired what would please or displease the people. "What is 
immutable truth ? What do sinners need ? What do christians 
need? What is the preaching which Christ directs and will 
bless ? Such has been my rule. Preaching should be earnest 
talk." 



AGED DIVINES. 219 

In corporate bodies, in the formation of reli- 
gious societies, in the promotion of philan- 
thropy, his efforts were conspicuous, and his 
decisions respected. This prominence, and the 
appreciation that attended it, caused frequent 
applications to change his place. Some of 
these were attractive, with regard, to perquisite, 
and personal ambition. Among them, was the 
offer of the presidency of two colleges. But 
the principle of pastoral constancy was strong 
within him. He agreed in opinion with his 
venerable friend, the Rev. Dr. Marsh of Weth- 
ersfield, who continued faithful to the verge of 
fourscore, at one post of duty, — that ''he should 
as soon think of leaving his wife, as his 
people." 

He was a man of intense, and versatile in- 
dustry. Though a thorough scholar, and 
delighting in books, he knew how to use his 
hands to good purpose. He had constructive- 
ness in the management of tools, and kept some 
thirty acres of land in profitable culture. He 
was skilful in the production of fine fruits ; and 
twigs grafted by himself, were favorite gifts to 



220 PAST MERIDIAN. 

friends. Now, as large, thrifty trees, they keep 
in memory, by their annual harvest, him, who 
was still more earnest to set in the mental soil, 
the plants of righteousness. 

He had the power of turning from one em- 
ployment to another, without rapturing trains of 
thought. Order, economy, and the unities of 
time and place, seemed inherent habitudes of 
his mind. A full flow of spirits pervaded his 
whole course of action. Yet, he was inured to 
physical suffering, notwithstanding his vigor of 
frame. Acute rheumatism was one of his 
maladies ; fever and ague, taken during a mis- 
sionary tour at the west, taught him its fearful 
alternations; and asthma, his foe from childhood, 
so annoyed him, that sometimes in the night 
he left his chamber, and mounting his horse, 
rode for miles, to parry the sense of suffocation. 
At others, he would spend whole nights in his 
study, by reading and WTiting, overuling the con- 
sciousness of pain, and striving to turn his 
broken rest to advantage. He w^as one of the 
few who required slight refreshment from sleep, 
seldom more than six hours out of twenty-four ; 



AGED DIVINES. 221 

and never lying down to rest in the day. He 
was not inclined to allude to his ailments, but 
what he could not conquer, endured with reso- 
lution, and singular cheerfulness. 

"Tell about low spirits? — he would say — For shame! — I pro- 
secute my work, without regarding any of these things." 

My own impression of him, from a single 
unceremonious interview, was that of a man, 
who mingled with whatever he did, the strength 
of a happy heart, and who influenced others, 
not only by innate power and piety, but by 
the simple truthfulness of his words, and the 
genial spirit of his manners. 

His domestic virtues, and enjoyments were 
delightful. A daughter of the younger Pre- 
sident Edwards, whom he won in the bloom 
of seventeen, for more than half a century was 
his chief earthly joy. Four years before his 
own departure, and when he was himself 
nearly eighty-four, she was called to eternal 
rest. 

" She made my home, said he, the pleasantest spot on earth. 
Now she is gone, — my worldly loss is perfect." 
19* 



222 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Yet still with cheerfulness, and those habits 
of industry that sought the good for this life and 
the next, of all around, he lightened his lot of 
loneliness. He counted it a high privilege that 
he was enabled to be profitably occupied, until 
life's close. Though relieved from the weight 
of pulpit cares, he attended as usual, divine 
service, the Sunday preceding his death, em- 
ployed himself industriously till the close of 
the week, and after a slight indisposition, seated 
in his chair, — passed without a sigh to that 
heavenly world, which his satisfied spirit, so 
calmly contemplated. 

Sweetly has he given his suffrage of old 
age, that period often so unwisely dreaded, 
and unjustly delineated. 

" Having retired from every official demand abroad, without 
the shadow of embarassment at home, and consequently finding 
myself perfectly at leisure, I yet seem never to have been in my 
life so busy. My often expressed opinion is, that notwithstand- 
ing the decays that unperceived by myself, I know age must be 
steadily producing, I never enjoyed existence better. In my 
chamber, I dwell, as in a paradise. Here too, I am certain, the 
Infinite Mind is always accessible." 

But the patriarch among the pastors of his 



AGED DIVINES. 223 

native State, was the Rev. Dr. Samuel Nott of 
Franklin. That pleasant agricultural township, 
formerly an appendage of Norwich, and called 
its West Farms, had become disturbed in the 
exercise of its religious polity. Two ministers 
had been dismissed, and numerous candidates 
presented themselves in the pulpit, without 
securing unanimity of choice. At length, in 
1782, a young man of a serious and pleasing 
aspect, stood there, by request, addressing them 
from the inspired passage, "I ask therefore, 
with what intent, ye sent for me." Verily, a 
good intent. And a good result. Seventy 
vears of faithful service, — until those brio^ht 
locks should be white as the almond-tree. 

He adds another to the many instances, 
where a delicate constitution and feeble health 
in youth, are by prudence and the divine bless- 
ing, led to increased strength, and decided lon- 
gevity. Probably such rewards are more 
likely to ensue, than where native vigor de- 
pends arrogantly upon itself During the first 
years of his ministry, he found it expedient to 
confine himself to a diet of milk, yet withdrew 



224 PAST MERIDIAN. 

from no ministerial effort, parochial visit, 
or duty to his household. In his half cen- 
tury sermon he mentions, that he had been 
withheld by indisposition, from the public ser- 
vices of the sanctuary, but six sabbaths, for 
that whole period. He speaks of six hundred 
and ten graves, over whose tenants he had per- 
formed the funeral obsequies, in six of which, 
slumbered his own children. 

I remember, in early days to have seen him 
more than once, in the pulpit of my own minis- 
ter. He was tall, and of a grave aspect, and 
his words were searching ajid solemn. In my 
simplicity I likened him to an ancient prophet ; 
me thought to the one who cried, '' Stand 
ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old 
paths, — where is the good way and walk therein, 
and ye shall find rest to your souls." 

With his clerical toil, he mingled occasional 
participation in the cares of instruction, prepar- 
ing a number of young men for college, and 
superintending the studies of others who were 
to enter the ministry. Feeling deeply the value 
of education, as those are prone to do, who 



AGED DIVINES. 225 

defray its expenses by their own exertions, he 
had given pecuniary aid in such measure as he 
was able, to between two and three hun- 
dred who were striving to earn its benefits. 
These charities, with the thorough nurture 
of his own children, and the materials of com- 
fort for his family, required amid restricted 
means, the most judicious use both of time 
and money. 

Self-denial was a part of his religion. In 
this respect, he both taught and exemplified 
that the '' disciple need not be above his Lord." 
Doubtless this virtue has something to do with 
growth in grace, as well as with consistency in 
a spiritual guide ; allowing no room for competi- 
tion in show or extravagance, for indolence or 
luxurious indulgence that war against the soul. 
"By economy, industry, and the divine bless- 
ing, says this primitive pastor, I have never even 
nominally been expensive to my people, beyond 
the original contract. My salary is $333 ; 
about $230 by individuals, and twelve loads of 
wood annually, were kindly added. I have seen 
the time, when as far as compensation was con- 



226 PAST MERIDIAN. 

cerned, I might have changed my situation 
advantageously. Yet though it has been so 
common, especially of late years, for ministers 
and people, either from necessity, or a restless 
disposition to part, I have nevertheless, thought 
it my duty to abide at the post where I v^as first 
stationed." 

The simple, but rare morality of avoiding 
debt, and the higher philosophy that '' made his 
wish with his estate comply," were features in 
his christian example, worthy of imitation and 
praise. In consistence with these principles, 
and illustrating all the virtues of a cheerful, 
deep-rooted, and self-sustaining piety, life drew 
on, amid the harmony, and love of his flock, 
until he had passed several months beyond his 
ninety-eighth birth-day. From the grave, we 
seem to listen to that venerated voice, repeating 
its time-honored counsels. 

" Dear fi-iends, you have each of you, your day, your sphere 
of usefulness. You can Hve but once. Let the world be the 
better for you, while you do hve." 

Still continuing to search in the annals of 
Connecticut, for those divines, who have con- 



AGED DIVINES. 227 

nected faithful service with longevity, we find 
the names of Rev. Dr. Joseph Bellamy of 
Bethlehem; Rev. Dr. Joseph Whitney of 
Brooklyn; Rev. Noadiah Russell of Middle- 
town; Rev. Ammi R. Robbins of Norfolk ; Rev. 
Daniel Dow of Thompson ; Rev. Thomas Can- 
field of Roxbury ; Rev. Peter Starr of Warren; 
as having labored for fifty years, or more, with- 
out change, at a single post of duty. The 
tomb-stone of the Rev. Frederick W. Hotch- 
kiss, of Saybrook, records that his death took 
place at fourscore, after having been pastor of 
one church for sixty years. 

Yet not alone, to olden times, or the memory 
of departed worthies, do we turn for such hon- 
ored testimonies. They are found among liv- 
ing witnesses. The Rev. Dr. Joab Brace, has 
recently delivered an interesting discourse at 
Newington, recapitulating his labors, and the 
mutations of fifty years ; in the course of a few 
months, the Rev. Dr. Abel McEwen of New 
London, and the Rev. Dr. Noah Porter of 
Farmington, complete their bi-centennial pas- 
torate ; and numerous instances might be cited 



228 PAST MERIDIAN. 

where for thirty and forty years, the shepherd 
has guided in green pastures, and beside still 
waters, the same trusting flock. 

A complete catalogue has not been attempted. 
The space at my command would not admit of 
it. In pursuing the interesting research how 
far the duties of a spiritual teacher were favor- 
able to longevity, the theory involuntarily pre- 
sented itself, that continuance in one sphere of 
action, or the habitudes that are involved in that 
continuance, may possess a conservative influ- 
ence. In the narrow circle which has been con- 
templated, evidence seems to have been ad- 
duced, that this "patience of hope" has been 
often rewarded by prolonged capacities for the 
"labor of love." It might appear that avoiding 
to untwine and break the tendrels of holy affec- 
tion, had given vitality to the vine, and spar- 
ing to pour the "oil of the sanctuary" from 
vessel to vessel, aided the frail lamp longer to 
burn. 

I am not aware that my native State trans- 
cends others in the number of these beautiful 
instances of God's goodness, and man's con- 



AGED DIVIXES. 229 

stancy. I have selected it, because the mate- 
rials were more readily available. 

It is pleasant now to gather from different 
localities, and a broader field, a few examples 
of clerical usefulness, freshly surviving amid 
the winter of age. The Rev. Dr. Eliphalet 
Nott, the brother of our Nestor of Connecticut 
pastors, sustains without declension, at the age 
of eighty-five, the onerous office of President of 
Union College, Schenectady. For the long 
period of fifty-two years, he has skillfully and 
successfully conducted the interests of that im- 
portant Institution, having had under his charge 
nearly five thousand students. He possesses 
much knowledge of human nature, and that un- 
bounded forbearance and hope for the errors of 
youth, that are often among the powerful ele- 
ments of its reinstatement, and elevation. He 
is an eloquent speaker, and still occasionally 
officiates in the pulpit. A new edition of his 
" Counsels to Young Men," has recently been 
issued from the press, enriched by additions 
from his pen ; a valued contribution to octoge- 
narian literature. 

20 



230 PAST MERIDIAN. 

One of our periodicals records the interest- 
ing circumstance, that a pulpit in Salem, Mass., 
was lately occupied on the Sabbath, by two 
aged brothers, the Rev. Brown Emerson, its own 
minister, in his seventy-eighth year, — and the 
Rev. Reuben Emerson of South Reading, 
in his eighty-fourth, both of whom have been 
in the exercise of pastoral duty for more than 
half a century. On this occasion, the usual 
services were combined with the administra- 
tion of the sacrament, and the admission to 
that ordinance of a number of new communi- 
cants. The entire exercises were conduct- 
ed by these venerable men, with a remark- 
able degree of physical vigor and mental fervor. 
The youngest having some slight indisposition,* 
it was observed that the older brother, was as- 
siduous to relieve him, and to assume wherever 
it was possible the heavier portion of the toils 
of the day. 

The Rev. Dr. Thomas C. Brownell, senior 
Bishop of the United States, has presided nearly 
forty years over the Episcopate of Connecticut, 
and now approaches the boundary of fourscore. 



AGED DIVINES. 281 

He has long been a resident of Hartford, and 
though in feeble health, mingles as far as pos- 
sible, in the sacred duties of his station. The 
tones of his tremulous voice are still a melody 
to those who revere and love him. 

His principal published writings are a large 
''Family Commentary on the Prayer Book;" 
and the '' Religion of the Heart and Life," a 
work in five volumes, presenting the condensed 
opinion of many distinguished divines, on the 
highest interests of the soul. In his Introduc- 
tion he remarks, 

*' Man has affections to be matured and improved as well as an 
intellect to be enlightened. It is not enough therefore, that his 
mind embrace sound doctrinal views of Christianity, his heart 
must be affected by these doctrines, and renewed by their influ- 
ence, and the effects of this renovation must be made manifest in 
a pure, and holy life. 

His wise and conciliatory counsels have re- 
markably resulted in the harmony of his Dio- 
cese. In his address, at the recent Convention, 
after speaking of the infirmities of age, and 
meekly reviewing his long spiritual adminis- 
tration, he says : 



232 PAST MERIDIAN. 

" I am not conscious in all that period, of having cherished 
unkind feelings to any clergyman in my diocese, or of having 
uttered unkind language to any one. Neither am I conscious 
that any one has by thought or word manifested unkindness 
towards me. This is a source of unmingled satisfaction, — and 
if the present should be our last meeting, I feel that we shall part 
in peace and mutual charity." 

A blessed suffrage. Long may the beauty 
of his venerable presence, and serene example 
remain among us. 

The Rev. Lincoln Ripley, — a resident of 
Maine, though in his ninety-fifth year, enjoys 
comfortable health, and is not unfitted for the 
duties of his sacred office. A brother of his, 
retained his ministerial charge in Massachusetts 
for more than half a century, until his death at 
the age of ninety. This whole family pre- 
sent a distinguished instance of longevity. 
It originally comprised nineteen, — eight sons, 
and eleven daughters, all of them children of 
one pious, pains-taking mother. Of this large 
circle, ten surpassed the limits allotted to the 
life of man ; five lived beyond eighty, and three 
beyond ninety years. Of the last named trio^ 
one of the sisters is mentioned in the sue- 



AGED DIVINES. 23S 

ceeding chapter of this work, as illustrating 
the happy usefulness that may comport with 
great age : and three of the brothers, selected 
the pastoral office in youth, and faithfully 
consecrated to its duties, their heritage of 
days. 

The Rev. Dr. T. M. Cooley, of Granville, 
Mass., is a native of that romantic and almost 
Alpine region, where as a servant of God, he 
has labored for more than sixty years. Still 
he is enabled to minister to an affectionate peo- 
ple, with the glowing warmth of a pious heart 
at the age of fourscore and four. His first 
sermon after receiving license to preach, was 
delivered in that place of his birth, where he 
was persuaded to take spiritual charge of a 
congregation, comprising father and mother, 
grand-parents and many gray-haired people ; 
though he accounted himself with humility, as 
'' but a babe in Christ." Very happy has been 
that long connection. Its Jubilee was observed 
about eleven years since, and its festive cere- 
monies and addresses are preserved in the form 
of an interestinor little book. The pastor in his 



234 P A S T M E K I D I A N . 

recapitulatory discourse, speaks of his interest 
in the supervision of schools, and his labors 
as a practical teacher, adding — 

" Eight hundred pupils have received instruction from my lips, 
preparatory for college, and for business, sixty of whom have 
already entered the ministry." 

On his eightieth birth-day, he said to his peo- 
ple, that he could '' hear, see, and speak with 
the facility of early manhood, and had never 
been confined to his bed, or his room, by sick- 
ness, a single day, for threescore and fourteen 
years." 

He still reads w^ithout the aid of spectacles ; 
in epistolary intercourse holds the pen of a 
ready v^^riter, v^hile his clear chirography might 
put to shame much of the fashionable illegi- 
bility. 

Half a century since, a detachment from his 
church and people, departed amid prayers and 
blessings to form a colony in Central Ohio. 
Forty-six days of travel, brought them to their 
home in the then unbroken wilderness. Be- 
neath a spreading tree, through whose almost 



AGED DIVINES. 235 

leafless branches the November winds made 
bleak accompaniment to their hymns of praise, 
their first sabbath- worship was held. Now this 
fair daughter, bearing also the name of Gran- 
ville, in vigorous beauty, surpasses the mother. 

Thither, the aged pastor, in the course of the 
past year, was induced to journey, and received 
a patriarch's welcome. During the last few 
months, the sixtieth anniversary of his mar- 
riage, has been celebrated, at the request and 
under the auspices of his attached parishioners. 
Four generations gathered around the venera- 
ble pair ; gratulatory letters poured in from the 
absent, while the pleasant union of conversa- 
tion, refreshments, music, and giving of thanks, 
made this festival one of the bright resting-pla- 
ces of memory. 

The Rev. Daniel Waldo, at the age of nine- 
ty-three, has regularly officiated during the past 
year, as Chaplain to Congress, discharging the 
duties of his sacred office with zeal and accept- 
ance. He has enjoyed the large national library, 
the varied and distinguished society, and other 
advantages of his unsought position, with the 



236 PAST MERIDIAN. 

earnestness and enthusiasm of earlier years 
An auspicious augury is it, when at the Court 
of any nation, reverence is accorded to the 
"hoary head, found in the way of wisdom." 

Probably the oldest active minister in New 
England, and one of the oldest in the world, is 
the Rev. Mr. Sawyer, of Maine, who if he sees 
the harvest-moon of the present year (1856,) 
fill her horn, will have completed a century. 
Seventy-five years has he been an assiduous 
servant in his Master's cause, and enjoyed 
almost uninterrupted health. He lately visited 
and preached at Hebron, in Connecticut, his 
native place, which he left when a boy of twelve. 
He has also recently made a pleasant tour in 
the Granite State, beneath the shadow of whose 
lofty White Mountains, he commenced his 
youthful labors. Surprisingly does he retain 
his early vigor, preaching once or twice on the 
Sabbath, with a clear voice, sufficient to fill the 
largest churches. 

One who heard him close the exercises at the 
Commencement of a Theological Seminary, 
the last year with prayer, mentions with admo- 



AGED DIVINES. 237 

ration, his fine strong tones, and the earnest 
love with which he poured forth, as if from the 
soul's depths, his reverence for God, his grati- 
tude for a Savior, and his desires that the gos- 
pel might irradiate every dark spot upon the 
earth. 

" Not the shghtest of the attractions of the 
house where I was entertained," says the rela- 
tor, was the society of a model Christian gen- 
tleman, Deacon Adams, whose sight is not dim, 
nor hearing dull, nor natural force abated, 
though he lacks only some 15 years, to bring 
him to the date of his aged minister. Twenty 
years more would bring him to that of Moses." 

''After all, Moses would not have seemed so 
very old, down here in Maine. Father Sawyer 
and Deacon Adams, would not think much of 
his extra 20 or 30 years. Indeed, from a little 
incident that occurred, I should think that such 
patriarchs got quite accustomed to living. A 
minister in his prime, said to the former, ''If 
you preach a sermon on your hundredth birth- 
day, I'll be there to hear you." "How do you 
know you'll be alive then," was the quick 



238 PAST MEKIDIAN. 

repartee of that bright-minded patriarch, stand 
ing on the verge of his second century." 

An interesting jubilee was held in the open 
air, a summer or two since, amid the romantic 
scenery, and wild mountains of Wales, to com- 
memorate the settlement of the Rev. D. "Wil- 
liams, at Breconshire. After introductory ser- 
vices, one of the numerous clergymen present, 
came forward, and requested his acceptance of 
various appropriate gifts, with the congratula- 
tions of their donors. Large additions to his 
library, and no inconsiderable accession to his 
salary came on that day, from the half-pastoral, 
half-agricultural people, where for fifty years 
he has labored with stainless reputation, and 
unwavering popularity. Still hale and vigor- 
ous he stood among them, able to preach thrice 
on a Sabbath, without fatigue, and as the clear 
sunlight beamed upon him through the chequer- 
ing branches, and the air which was purity 
itself, stirred his locks, he seemed the personi- 
fication of healthful and serene happiness. The 
people over whom he presides, have had but 
three clergymen for 160 years, and it is a 



AGED DIVINES. 239 

significant fact that they have enjoyed during 
that period, uninterrupted peace and harmony. 
His amiable and pious consort, for half a cen- 
tury his helper and friend, was not forgotten, 
but shared in the liberal tokens, and heart-felt 
attentions of the festival. 

Being what is called in that primitive region, 
a pluralist pastor, and the country, one of vol- 
canic formation, the yearly labor of travelling 
to meet the necessities of his scattered flock, 
involves both fatigue and risk. Yet during 
the 2600 Sabbaths which his fifty years have 
comprehended, it was stated that he had never 
once been disabled from preaching, or excused 
himself from any call of duty. By us, nur- 
tured amid smooth roads, or flying at will in 
the rail-car, it would be impossible to conceive 
the toils of traversing that mountainous coun- 
try, with its bridgeless streams, its foaming tor- 
rents, its narrow, winding, declivitous paths, 
often made invisible by mist and snow. Yet 
no tempest has kept at home on the Sabbath, 
or witheld from the out-door gatherings in North 
or South Wales, the apostle of Breconshire. 



240 PAST MERIDIAN. 

To meet these requisitions for half a century, it 
is computed that he must have spent some 
years in the saddle. Fifteen hundred from 
amid that sparse population, has he gathered in- 
to the fellowship of his church. 

A spectator of this commemorative festival, 
says : 

"It was impossible to look at him, surrounded by forty 
of his younger brethren in the ministry, without mingled 
feelings of admiration and pious gratitude. Physically, as well 
as mentally, he was formed for his profession. His broad chest, 
and voice, even now powerful, make the utterance of hours 
easier to him than breathing to many public speakers. His ser- 
mons have been always prepared with great care, and delivered 
with unfaltering fluency, and a glow of enthusiasm. There he 
stood, after a campaign of fifty years, against an evil world, with 
an unblemished name, and lips whose eloquence no inconsistency 
had silenced. Honor to the brave old man, and praise to the 
grace of God, which has made him what he is." 

Though these selections from the ranks of 
aged divnes, which are so pleasant to contem- 
plate, must be accounted rather as exceptions, 
yet their number sanctions the conclusion that 
the sacred profession is not inauspicious to lon- 
gevity. It would also seem, from the investi- 



AGED DIVINES. 241 

gation of rather a limited sphere, that length of 
days had been more frequently attained, where 
the excitements of change of position, and the 
trial of uprooting pastoral affections had been 
as far as possible avoided. 

To many ancient servants of the altar, the 
active usefulness of earlier days is not accorded. 
Still, is it in their power to benefit man, and to 
honor God. Rest, as well as labor. He is able 
to make profitable. The meekness with which 
they resign employments and efforts once so 
dear, and the cheerfulness w^ith which they 
turn to remaining comforts are salutary exam- 
ples to the younger traveller. Their virtues, 
day by day, reiterate and make plainer on the 
map of life, the narrow way to the celestial 
city. Their secret influence is as a purifying 
breath to the moral atmosphere. By the silent 
eloquence of holiness they still lead in the 
w^ay of righteousness. The gentle and sol- 
emn memories of many years sublimate their 
spirits, while their chastened expectations 
surround them with a deeper tenderness of 
love. 2^ 



242 PAST MERIDIAN. 

No frost of age 
May blight their pure example, or impair 
Those fruits, which mid the tears and clouds of time, 
Mellow to Heaven's own hue. 
^' Oh how comely is the wisdom of old men, says the son of 
Su*ach,"much experience is their crown and the fear of God their 
glory." 

For those who sustained by blessed recollec- 
tions, calmly wait the Divine will, the metaphor 
of a fine writer has peculiar significance : 

" The years of old age are stalls in the Cathedral of life, for 
the gray haired to sit in, and listen, and meditate, and be patient 
till the service is over, and so get themselves ready to say amen 
at last, with all their hearts and souls." 



CHAPTEE Xin. 



*' Say ! wherefore sigh for what is gone? 

Or deem the future all a night ? 
From darkness through the rosy dawn, 

The stars go singing into light : 
And to the pilgrim, lone and gray. 

One thought shall come to cheer the breast, 
The evening sun but fades away, 

To find new morning in the west." 

T. B. Read. 

Cheerful Old Women ! Yes, to be sure, that 
is very proper : and why not cheerful old men 
also ? Is not that amiable temperament fitting 
for both ? 

No doubt. Yet it seems expressly incum- 
bent on those to whom home-happiness is con- 
fided. Gloom is very inconsistent with that 



244 PAST MERIDIAN". 

science. If its elements have been acquired, 
and some commendable progress made in early 
life, it would be unwise and inconsistent to 
abandon them at its close. 

Women wish to make themselves agreeable. 
There is no harm in that. It is a part of their 
nature. But how do they expect to continue 
so, when the attractions of youth forsake them ? 

If they once possessed beauty, it may have 
become a matter of tradition, of which the ob- 
server is incredulous. The elegance of man- 
ners for which they were praised of old, may 
now be deemed antiquated, for there are fash- 
ions in manners as well as in dress. What 
are they to do then, in order to avoid being 
disagreeable 1 

Let them make trial of the temper that looks 
on the bright side of things. Let them put on 
the spectacles that discern the bright side of 
character. The smile of such a temperament 
is always admired. There is no Old School, 
or New School about that. Like the pure gold 
of patience, it grows brighter for using. 

Life with all its trials, is very much what we 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 245 

choose to make it. We may go complaining 
all our days, or singing the heart song : 

"Simply to he 
Is a joy to me, 
For which my God I bless." 

I have known many of my own sex, who 
eminently cultivated this sunny spirit. Among 
them, I think at this moment of the only sister 
of Wordsworth, for whom the voice of mourning 
has recently gone up from the beautiful regions 
of Grassmere and Helvellyn. Amid exquisite 
scenery with a soul attuned to all its loveliness, 
she had walked arm in arm with her loved 
brother for more than half a century. To him, 
her unfailing cheerfulness, and refined taste, 
were priceless treasures, and he admitted that 
some of the finest passages in his poems were 
suggested by communion with her. Destitute 
of his reserve and taciturnity, she had the power 
of charming a company of listeners, by her 
varied conversation, though entirely unobtru- 
sive, and child-like in simplicity. 

" A true woman, is she indeed, said Coleridge, in mind and in 
heart. Her person is such, that if you expected to see a pretty 
21* 



246 PAST MEKIDIAN. 

woman, you might think her rather ordinary, — but if you expect- 
ed to find an ordinary woman, you would think her pretty — so 
simple are her manners, so ardent, so impressive, and in every 
motion her most innocent soul beams out so brightly." 

A close observer of Nature whose changes 
she loved, — benevolent, affectionate, and doing 
good to all, Dorothy Wordsworth nunibered 
eighty-four years, without a winter in her heart; 
and with the sweet sound of Rydal's falling 
water, her pleasant memory mingles. 

Social intercourse, is among the remedies for 
the ennui and inertia, which sometimes attend 
declining years. Thus, Mrs. Garrick, the wid- 
ow of the celebrated actor, continued to be 
accessible and acceptable, until ninety-seven; 
and Miss Monckton at ninety-four, through her 
vivacity and good taste in dress, drew around 
her throngs of gratified guests, in the metropo- 
lis of England. Hannah More, after her re- 
moval to Clifton, in her eighty-fifth year, was 
so attractive, that the number of her visitants 
was computed at four hundred in the space of 
three weeks. Her conversational powers, 
charming the most elegant and refined, re- 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 247 

tained all their freshness and brilliancy, while 
her liveliness of manner, delighted the young, 
and the warmth of her christian love, wdth the 
wisdom of her wTitings inspired all with affec- 
tion and confidence. 

How touchingly does she unfold the secret 
of this cheerfulness, as she approached the 
close of life : 

" When and whither^ belong to Him, who governs both worlds. 
I have nothing to do but to trust. I bless God that I enjoy 
great tranquility of mind, and am willing to depart, and be with 
Christ, whenever He shall call. I leave myself in His hands, 
who doeth all things well." 

" I have seen the better part of the race of hfe," said a distin- 
guished writer, at the age of seventy-four. Of the little that 
remains, I endeavor to make the best. On the whole, I am 
rather surprised that I have scrambled through it as well as I 
have. That I have lived on good terms with so many good peo- 
ple, gives me about as much pleasure as any other reflection." 

Philosophers have called woman the " home 
teacher.^' If she accepts this distinguished 
office, she should renounce an inanimate, and 
mournful deportment. The best precepts lose 
their force if lugubriously uttered. Aged peo- 
ple of a pleasant countenance and cheerful 



248 PAST MERIDIAN. 

voice have great power in winning the affec- 
tions of children. The infant stretches its 
arms to its grandparents, and httle forms clus- 
ter around the chair of the silver-haired story- 
teller. 

The gentler sex have a great resource in age, 
from their varieties of interesting domestic em- 
ployment, and especially the uses of the needle. 

" I wish I could sew," said the Rev. Sidney Smith. "I be- 
lieve one reason why women are generally so much more cheer- 
ful than men, is, because they can work with the needle, and so 
endlessly vary their employments. I knew a lady of rank, who 
made her sons do carpet-work. All men ought to learn to sew." 

The simple forms of feminine industry, are 
surely favorable to serenity of spirit, as well as 
conducive to respectability and comfort. A 
lady of eighty-four, in one of the smaller towns 
of Connecticut, found great pleasure from these 
unostentatious pursuits. During one year, she 
completed with her quiet knitting-needles, forty- 
eight pairs of stockings, besides constructing 
from fragments of calico, two large bed-quilts, 
one of them comprising more than three thou- 
sand separate pieces, symmetrically arranged. 



CHEERFUL OLD W O M E ^\ 2^9 

These fabrics were principally for the accom- 
modation and relief of needy persons, — so 
that with the peaceful consciousness of time 
industriously improved, was blent the still higher 
satisfaction of benevolence. "Was not this a 
gainful exchange for the lassitude, and suspi- 
cious sense of uselessness, which is sometimes 
permitted to gather like rust over advanced 
years, or like a cancer to eat away their re- 
maining vitality ? 

This good woman might seem to have con- 
stantly kept in view, the old Arabian proverb, 
" the idle are not to be classed among the liv- 
ing ; they are a peculiar kind of dead, who can 
never be buried." 

A part of the regimen that promotes cheer- 
fulness, may be thus simplified : 

Make the best of everything, 
Think the best of everybody, 
Hope the best for yourself 

Aged women of a sunny spirit, retain a de- 
cided influence on those around them. Lady 
Strange, whose husband did so much for the 
encouragement of the fine arts in England, 



250 PAST MERIDIAN. 

somewhat more than a century since, so far 
from underrating what time had spared, thus 
remarks in a letter to one of her female 
friends. 

" My health is excellent. My cheeks have still some bloom. I 
have two of my own teeth, and several brown hairs in my head» 
I might have been able to dance at any of my children's wed- 
dings. Is not this a tolerably satisfactory condition at eighty- 
four?" 

During- the long- absences of Sir Robert from 
his native land in the earher years of their 
union, she zealously and economically took 
charge of a large family, bringing up the boys 
with a judicious energy, and cheering her hus- 
band by the pen, to " endure as patiently as 
possible the privations of absence. Keep fully 
in mind, all the blessings that you enjoy. Weak 
health may be helped, if due care is attended 
by cheerfulness, that best of medicines. Cheer 
up your heart, our situation has still many cau- 
ses of thankfulness to God." 

After her death which took place at her own 
house, in her 88th year, it was said by an ac- 
curate judge, that " at this late period she re- 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 251 

tained all the activity of a vigorous mind, that 
her lively, interesting conversation, would be 
remembered and regretted by a large circle of 
acquaintance, and that she continued to unite 
the vivacity of youth to the dignity of age. 
Her whole life was usefully employed for the 
benefit as well of her own family, as that of 
those in whom she took a benevolent interest. 
Equally distinguished was she by purity of 
morals, and integrity of principles, as for excel- 
lence of understanding." 

Yet it is not necessary to cross the ocean, or 
explore foreign lands for examples of women, 
who have illumined long life by an unclouded 
spirit. Many such will be readily recalled, and 
among them one, over whom the tomb has but 
recently closed. Madam Susan Johnson, of 
Stratford, Connecticut. 

" I had visited her, only a little time before her death, said a 
friend, in the lovely village of her residence. In the full enjoy- 
ment was she, of every faculty, at the advanced age of eighty- 
four. She retained an unimpaired memory, and kept up a con- 
stant and elegant correspondence with her friends, until within 
a few days of her death. She was looking toward approaching 
spring with pleasant anticipation, for though life's winter was 



252 PAST MERIDIAN. 

upon her, she delighted in the carol of birds, and the changing 
beauties of every season, watching them as in by-gone days, 
and sharing cheerfully the joys of those around her, as in times 
of old." 

Quite recently also, has passed away, Mrs. 
Abigail Leonard, of Abington, Connecticut, hav- 
ing almost reached her ninety-third birth-day. 
She retained her physical and mental powers in 
healthful action until life's close. She was fond 
of reading and conversing, and nourished her 
activity by a habit of performing some useful 
labor every day. Industry was her enjoyment. 
Many tokens of this, has she left among friends 
and acquaintances, as pleasant memorials. 
They can show the garments, and other articles 
she took such pleasure in making while still 
among them. A christian Dorcas was she, and 
her works praise her. Ever amiable and bright- 
spirited, she delighted to converse on cheering 
and instructive themes, and especially as she 
drew near her final transition, to speak to her 
Pastor, high and holy words of that country 
where she was to find a home, and of those 
skies which have no need of either sun or moon 
to give them light. 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 253 

Among those matrons who have nobly sus- 
tained the hardships of setthng our new Western 
States, was one who emigrated during the last 
century to the wilds of Illinois. A large family 
did she bring up, and extended the helping 
hand and loving smile to her great grand-chil- 
dren even to the verge of fourscore. A model 
was she of useful industry. Scarcely ever 
would you see her seated, without the needle, 
or knitting-needles in busy exercise. By her 
side, also, on a little table, were ever lying her 
Bible, pen and ink. For the last thirty years 
of life, her spirit was so much soothed by the 
melody of rhyme, that she seldom passed a 
day without composing a few verses. She nev- 
er mentioned them to others, but linked the 
harmonies of thought and sound, of which the 
following is a specimen, as a source of solitary 
satisfaction, and a sweetener of the spirit. 

" All eyes on one Creator wait, 

The rich, the poor, the mean, the great, 

The ignorant, and wise. 

All on one common father call, 

The universal Lord of all. 

Sovereign of earth and skies. 
22 



254: PAST MERIDIAN. 

" Yet how ungrateful mortals prove, 
To him who is the Lord of Love, 

Nor trace the hand Divine ; 
O'erlook the guardian love and care, 
Nor render praise nor offer prayer, 

Forgetful they are thine. 

" Lord, may this thought be deep imprest 
Upon the tablets of my breast, 

Thy mercifts still my song 
At sober eve, at morning light, 
And through the watchful hours of night, 

I would the theme prolong. 

" Dear to my soul shall be thy praise ; 
Tho' poor and weak the song I raise 

It would to Thee aspire, 
teach to pray, to praise adore, 
To love, to reverence more and more, 

Impart celestial fire." 

Mrs. Esther Edwards, of Windsor, Connecti- 
cut, illustrated somewhat more than a century 
since, what woman may perform in her own 
peculiar province, with an unbroken, unclouded 
spirit. Having accepted in early youth, the 
station of the wife of a pastor, she imbibed the 
idea that it was her duty to release him wholly 
from all participation in domestic care. To her 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 255 

high-toned and unselfish mmd, it seemed that 
he who had undertaken the guidance of immor- 
tal souls, ought not to be annoyed by the daily 
questions of earth, "what shall w^e eat? what 
shall we drink ? and wherewithal be clothed ?" 
On this principle she commenced and continued 
to act. Neither was it a quiet utterance of "be 
ye warmed, and be ye filled ;" nor the simple 
ordering of obedient servants, that could ac- 
complish her purpose. In village life, such 
was then the equality of condition, that 
the help of subordinates was not easily obtain- 
ed, or habitually depended upon. Every re- 
past, and every garment, must have not only 
the providing thought, but the aiding hand of 
the mistress ; the minister's family must of course, 
be a pattern to all, and his restricted salary was 
expected to sustain a free hospitality. The 
thoroughness of New England housekeeping, 
and the determination to avoid all pecuniary 
indebtedness, which was then an essential part 
of every honest education, involved both per- 
sonal labor and rigid economy. Head, hands 
and feet, were alike taxed. 



256 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Yet nothing daunted, she who in these days, 
would have been counted in age but as a school 
girl, came modestly and bravely forward, girded 
with the love of her husband, and the fear of 
God. Blessed with a good physical constitu- 
tion, and a superior intellect, she failed not, 
fainted not. The simplicity of primitive times 
favored her, which required no elaborate cos- 
tume, or ceremonious visiting, or luxurious ap- 
pointment. Hence, she had more time for the 
training of her many children, which she deemed 
of unspeakable importance. She moved among 
them as a spirit of life and light. Requiring of 
them that implicit obedience which was the 
first lesson of life in the olden time, she looked 
upward for the wisdom she needed for their fu- 
ture guidance, wearing on her brow the sweet 
trustful spirit of the supplication; " Lead me to 
the rock that is higher than I." 

Her illustrious son. President Edwards, who 
was educated at home, until his entrance at col- 
lege, in recording his filial obligations, delight- 
ed to pay her a tribute of heartfelt praise. It 
has been remarked by some of his biographers, 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 257 

that intercourse throughout the whole of scho- 
lastic training, with mother and sisters, the lat- 
ter of whom also pursued a course of study 
under their father's supervision, contributed to 
the benignity and domestic tenderness, that 
mingled with his strength of intellect. Ten 
daughters well instructed, and fitted to perform 
whatever appertains to woman's sphere, attes- 
ted her maternal fidelity. During her sixty- 
three years of conjugal duty, she never neg- 
lected mental improvement, or sacrificed pro- 
gress in knowledge. On these, she depended 
still more for solace, after the eclipse of wid- 
owhood fell upon her heart and house. For a 
very long period, it had been her custom, to 
keep upon her parlor-table, a Bible, with some 
standard works of History, Biography and Theo- 
logy, divested of controversy. Thither, at a 
specified hour of each afternoon, came the 
neighboring ladies, both old and young. First, 
a passage of Scripture was read, then a portion 
of the volume which was in consecutive peru- 
sal, which their revered friend and guide inter- 
spersed with remarks or illustrations, readily 

22* 



258 PAST MERIDIAN. 

suggested by her extensive knowledge, or pro- 
found experience. The happy influence of 
such a habit on the intelligence of those around, 
it is not easy to compute ; and many in the mor- 
ning of life, referred their first serious impres- 
sions to words thus falling from those aged lips. 

Looking with a cheerful temper upon every 
creature, and all mutations below, her life 
drew on, in usefulness and honor, to the ex- 
treme period of ninety-nine years. Its \<^heels 
moved with music, until they were '' broken at 
the cistern, and the golden bowl" filled with the 
waters of immortality. 

Modifications of physical infirmity,, are prone 
to attend advancing years. They should be 
expected, and if not welcomed as guests, se- 
renely tolerated. There is often amid these 
decays, a kind of compensation in the dealings 
of Nature, a giving on one side, for what she 
takes on the other. 

" I am delighted, said an eminent physician, with this rheu- 
matism in my knee, for now some other complaints that I had, 
will vanish before it. We constantly perceive in the course of 
our medical practice, one disease counteracting or destroying 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 259 

another, so that the superintending care and wisdom of God is 
as manifest in the theory of indisposition, as in that of health." 

This occult science, is but too little studied, 
and the laws of health, with that cloudless spirit 
which is the sister of health, are too often neg- 
lected. Still, w^ere I permitted, with full scope, 
and a free pencil to enter the gallery of living 
portraits, many might be selected where silver 
hairs, and a furrowed forehead, are in unison 
w4th dignity, cheerfulness, and grace. 

I think at this moment, of one, from whom the 
Atlantic divides us, in w^hom these lineaments 
are strikingly prominent. Madam R., a native 
of our own clime, but a resident by marriage, for 
more than half a century, in the Mother Land, 
retains at ninety-three, not merely the capacity 
of pleasing, and being pleased, but undiminish- 
ed dehght in domestic and social duties. 
That practical science which promotes the com- 
fort of home, she still pursues as a source of 
happiness, and notwithstanding her great age, re- 
gularly adds to her household-book, the items of 
daily expenditure, as in her vigorous prime. In 
conversation, she evinces remarkable spright- 



260 PAST MERIDIAN. 

liness, and even brilliance of repartee. Her 
fine, erect person, seems to be rendered more 
attractive, by the perfect neatness and sim- 
plicity of costume, peculiar to the sect of 
Friends, of which she is a member This 
naivete, with the kindness, of which it is 
an expression, charms the young, and promotes 
good-humor in all aronnd. 

Her charities are constantly active, both in 
liberal bounties, and those slighter sunbeams 
that brighten the current of human life. Du- 
ring her walks in those parks that revivify the 
great heart of London, it is delightful to see 
her distributing to the children whom she meets, 
some appropriate gift, lighting up the wonder- 
ing smile upon their innocent faces, or pausing 
to counsel the nurses, in what position to carry 
their infant charge, so as least to constrain their 
delicate limbs, and heighten as much as possi- 
ble, the benefits of air and exercise. Love of 
the little ones, so frequently an element of hap- 
py old age, is a conspicuous trait in her nature, 
and may be traced in the following extempora- 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 261 

neous morceau, sent with the Christmas gift of 
a thimble, to one of her juvenile descendants : 

"Dear Minnie, 'tis a pleasant thing 

To use the busy thimble ; 
I fancy I can see you now, 

With fairy fingers nimble 
Preparing for your doll a dress. 

Against the Christmas-day, 
"When we appear in all our best, 

Why should not she be gay ? 

Your Grandmama, from her arm-chair 

The distance scarcely measures, 
But often in a fancy-flight 

Visits her living treasures, 
Pleas'd to enjoy their cheerful smiles, 

Or hear their laughter hearty. 
And then to N'o 8 returns, 

To welcome her own party." 

It is unfortunate, that those who are con- 
strained to feel the decays of time, should add 
a voluntary evil, that of mental depression. 
This tendency they ought at all points to resist. 
If they are compelled to resign the '^ harp and 
organ," and the full voice of their youthful 
minstrelsy, have they not still some humbler 



262 PAST MERIDIAN. 

instrument of joy, which they can tune to the 
chorus of God's praise ? 

In their efforts to preserve a happy equiUbri- 
um of spirits, they should have aid from those 
around. Younger, fresher sentinels should 
keep watch with and for them. Self-deroga- 
tion is their besetting sm. Pleasant statements 
of passing incidents, should be daily made 
them, to nourish the life of sympathy, and keep 
it in healthful connection with the outer world. 
Has the eye grown dim ? Let the interesting 
page, be rendered vocal, by lips of love. Has 
the ear become wearied? Let the sweetly, dis- 
tinct elocution, with a sustained but not too 
elevated tone, keep the heart from relapsing in- 
to solitude and silence. 

The young are not aware, what a charm such 
attentions and services cast around them. The 
higher class of minds are more moved by them, 
than by the brief blaze of beauty. An accom- 
plished gentleman, and critical observer, on his 
return from foreign travel, was asked to which 
of the fair ladies w^hom he constantly met in 
elegant society, he should give the preference. 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 263 

He designated one, who, among the reigning 
belles, had no distinction, giving as a reason — 

" She is sweetly attentive to her hoary, and sickly grandmoth- 
er. She will make a good wife." i 

Smiles, and words of approval, are medicines 
to the aged. They are not in danger from flat- 
tery, as at earlier periods of life. They are 
often painfully unassured of their acceptance 
with the new generation among whom they 
linger, as pilgrims and strangers. To suggest a 
becoming costume, or notice whatever is agreea- 
ble in conversation or style of manner, gives 
them confidence in their social relations. To 
refer to their opinion, or advice, is useful in 
keeping their judgment in exercise, as well as 
a proper tribute to their experience. Above all, 
never permit them to believe that their counsel, 
or company, are of little account. This gives 
strength to their chief temptation. The belief 
that they are considered supernumeraries, drives 
them to become superannuated. I hope no fil- 
ial heart may be moved to compunction, by the 
following graphic sketch from a maternal pen. 



264 PAST MERIDIAN. 

" Not long since, a comely man, scarcely past his prime, in- 
quired at our door for the clergyman. He appeared disappoint- 
ed and anxious, at hearing that he was out of town, and on be- 
ing questioned, replied — 

" I have lost my mother. As this place used to be her home, 
and my father is buried here, we came to lay her beside him." 

" You have met with a great loss," I said, moved by sym- 
pathy." 

" Well, — why yes ;" answered the man. " A mother, in 
the general way is a great loss. But ours had outlived her 
usefulness. She was in her second childhood. Her mind got to 
be as weak as her body, so that she was no comfort to herself 
nor to anybody else. There are seven of us, sons and daughters. 
We could not find anybody, who was willing to board her, so 
we agreed to keep her among us, a year apiece. But I had more 
than my share of her, for she was too feeble to be moved, when 
my time was out ; and that was more than three months before 
her death. She had been a good mother in her day, and work- 
ed very hard to bring us all up." 

" Without looking in the face of the heartless man, I directed 
him to a neighboring pastor and returned to my nursery. I 
gazed on the little faces that smiled, or grew sad, in imitation of 
mine, and wondered if the day would ever come when they 
should say ; " She has outlived her usefulness. She is no com- 
fort to herself and a burden to everybody else." God forbid 
that we should outlive the love of our children ! 

" When the bell tolled for this poor mother's obsequies, I went 
to the sanctuary to pay the only token of respect in my power 
to the aged stranger, for I felt that I could give her memory a 
tear, though the money-grasping children to whom she had 
ceased to be profitable might perchance have none to shed. 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 265 

" Mournfully and long spoke out the church-bell, till its iron 
tongue had chronicled the years of the toil-worn mother. Re- 
verberating through our quiet forests, and echoing from hill to 
hill, the knell continued until we had counted eighty-nine." 

" Eighty-nine ! there she lies in her coffin, still and cold. She 
makes no trouble now, demands no love, no soft words, no ten- 
der little offices. A look of patient endurance, we fancied also 
an expression of grief for unrequited love sat on her marble fea- 
tures. Her children were there, clad in weeds of woe, and in 
irony we remembered the strong man's words, " She was a good 
mother in her day." 

" When the bell ceased tolling, the strange minister rose in 
the pulpit. His form was very erect, and his voice strong, but 
his hair silvery white. He read several passages of Scripture 
expressive of God's compassion to feeble man, and especially of 
his tenderness when grey hairs are on him, and his strength fail- 
eth. He made some touching remarks on human frailty, and 
dependence on God, urging all present to make their peace with 
Him while in health, that they might claim his promises when 
heart and flesh should fail them. Leaning over the desk, and 
gazing intently on the coffined form before him, he then said 
reverently. " From a Httle child I have honored the aged ; but 
never till the gray hairs covered my own head, did I know truly 
how much love and sympathy this class have a right to demand 
of their fellow- creatures. Now I feel it. Our mother, " he ad- 
ded most tenderly," who now lies in death before us, was a 
stranger to me, as are all these, her descendants. All I know of 
her is what her son has told me to-day — that she was brought 
to this town from afar, sixty-nine years ago, a happy bride ; that 
here she passed most of her hfe, toiling as only mothers ever 

have strength to toil, until she had reared a large family of sons 

23 



266 PAST MERIDIAN. 

and daughters ; that she left her home here, clad in the weeds 
of widowhood, to dwell among her children ; and that till health 
and vigor left her, she lived for her decendants." 

" You, who together have shared her love and her care, know 
how well you have requitted her. God forbid that conscience 
should accuse you of ingratitude or murmuring, on account of 
the care she has been to you of late. When you go back to 
your homes, be careful of your words and your example before 
your own children, for the fruit of your doing you will surely 
reap from them, when you yourselves totter on the brink of the 
grave. I entreat you as a friend, as one who has himself entered 
^' the evening of life," that you may never say, in the presence 
of your families nor of heaven, " Our mother has outlived her 
usefulness — she is a burden to us." Never, never; a mother 
cannot live so long as that ! No ; when she can no longer labor 
for her children, nor yet care for herself, she should fall like a 
precious weight on their bosoms, and call forth by her helpless- 
ness all the noble, generous feelings of their natures." 

Is it to be supposed that there is in our coun- 
try, a disposition to deny the just claims of 
age ? We are not willing to admit so grave a 
charge upon a christian people. Whatever 
would seem to countenance it, probably arises 
from the over excited energies and haste of a 
young nation, intent to be rich, which amid 
its countless inventions, hazardous enterprises, 
and insatiate accumulation, overlooks the lone 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 267 

and the silent, the slow in speech, and the slow 
of action. 

N. P. Willis, from whose graceful pen we 
have heretofore quoted, thus feelingly remarks 
on this part of our subject. 

"The neglected portion of the great American family is old 
age — we are sorry to say. Not that we as a nation are disre- 
spectful to the old, or that they are denied or grudged anything. 
We perform the negative duty to them, by avoiding all which 
shall occasion them offence or deprivation ; but we do not per- 
form the positive duty of assiduously seeing that they occupy, 
always and only the places of honor and prominence ; nor, more 
particularly, do we study to contrive, untiringly and affection- 
ately, how to comfort, strengthen, cheer, and recuperate them. 
An old man in one house may have his chair in the drawing- 
room, and his place at the table, and be listened to when he 
speaks, and obeyed when he commands. But in another house 
he will have his easy chair cushioned and pillowed, and his arm- 
chair at the table, and the cook will be busied most with what 
will newly nourish or refresh his more delicate appetite ; while all 
listen first for his words, and address conversation to him as a 
center, and eagerly seek for his commands as an authority. This, 
(we assure the reader, from our well weighed observation in both 
countries,) is a fair picture of the difference between old age in 
America and old age in England. We have been sad to admit 
this, to the commenting traveller. 

It is an unconscious fault in our country — an oversight of our 
life too busy, our attention too overtasked, and our plans of 



268 PAST MERIDIAN. 

home and pleasure too unsettled and immature. But the feeling 
for better things is in us. Time will bring it into action." 

What remains therefore, for this interval du- 
ring which the country is getting ready to do its 
duty, but for the aged in general, and for old 
women in particular, to make themselves of as 
much consequence as they can ? If this is a 
busy, calculating age, let them bring a drop or 
two of honey to the hive, and they will be the 
more regarded. If they may not as formerly, 
spread the wing, on wide excursions, they can 
cheerily greet the working-bees, when they 
come laden home, and tell the young ones, 
where the white clover grows. Habits of use- 
fulness, varied according to the necessities of 
their position, and an agreeable demeanor, may 
be still their own. In the exercise of these, 
they will find comfort, until they rise to a high- 
er estate. 

It might be in accordance with the spirit of 
thrift that prevails in a new country, to repre- 
sent cheerfulness as a matter of loss and gain. 
Low spirits are decidedly unprofitable. They 
unhinge the nervous system. They are losses in 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 269 

the balance-sheet of life. " Discontent, says 
an ancient writer, casts a cloud over the mind. 
It occupies it with the evil that disquiets, in- 
stead of the means by which it is to be re- 
moved." 

Among things to be avoided by cheerful old 
women, are vain regrets. '' Would that I w^ere 
young again!" is the wish sometimes uttered 
by lips that might be better employed. It has 
been well treated by a Scottish lady, Caroline 
Baroness Nairn, in the following lines, wTit- 
ten when she had attained her seventy-sixth 
year, and must therefore be admitted as com- 
petent to judge of the question thus examined : 

" Would you be young again ? 

So would not I — 
One tear to memory given, 

Onward I'll hie : 
Life's dark flood forded o'er, 
All but at rest on shore, 
Say, would you plunge once more, 

With home so nigh ? 

If you might, would you now 

Retrace your way ? 

Wander through stormy wilds, 
23^ 



270 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Faint and astray ? 
Night's gloomy watches fled, 
Morning all beaming red, 
Hope's smiles around us shed, 

Heavenward — away. 

Where, are the parted friends, 

Once our delight ? 
Dear and more dear, though now 

Hidden from sight. 
Where they rejoice to be, 
There is the land for me ; 
Fly time, fly speedily — 

Come, life and light. 

The kind and wise provision of our Heaven- 
ly Father, by v^^hich the losses or needs of the 
several periods of life, find substitutes' or com- 
forts, is a pleasant contemplation. Youth must 
lose the sleepless affection that watched over 
its early helplessness, but exults in the vigor 
that can take care of itself, and in the developed 
intellect that knows what to do. Love resigns 
the fragrance of its first flowers, but is repaid 
by the rich clusters, ripening beneath its leaves. 
Age feels its strength decline, but rests peaceful- 
ly in the shadow of the filial love, that itself had 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 271 

reared, inhaling mental health from the beau- 
tiful ministries of Nature. 

Has the rose of June, less brilliance and 
freshness, than in our childhood ? Is it a slight- 
er favor than of old, to behold it, as it goes 
clustering up to the cottage-eaves ? '' Every 
bud grows more lovely, the song of the bird is 
sweeter than ever ;" said a man on the verge 
of eighty-eight — (my own blessed father.) Ah! 
thus should it ever be, with those who draw 
nearer, to flowers that never fade, to melody 
that never ceases. By the daily exercise of 
such a spirit, should they prepare for the '' ex- 
ceeding weight of glory," that awaits them. 
Let us educate ourselves for Heaven's high 
bliss, by cheerfully partaking of that, which 
Earth yields. 

Now and then we meet a person, who seems 
unwilling to forfeit the privileges of murmur- 
ing and wearing a sour, sad face. These but 
heighten the evils they deprecate. Others, from 
a naturally easy temperament, more readily 
avoid repining; yet a capacity for sustained en- 
joyment under the pressure of years, needs the 



272 PAST MERIDIAN. 

support of piety; a spirit in harmony with its 
lot and with its Law-giver. 

Would it not be well for all to try to enjoy 
their closing day ? What is the use of hang- 
ing a black pall over the setting sun ? Shall 
we spread the wet napkin of the wdcked Hazael, 
that smothered the kingly sleeper, to extinguish 
our own '' life of life," while yet breath is lent 
us? 

Rather with the armor recommended by the 
eloquent Apostle, " in the patience of hope, and 
the labor of love," would we press onward. 
" Wax old in thy work,^' says the son of Sirach. 
We will ask wisdom to do so, and to " stand 
in our lot, at the end of the days " 

"A fine writer has said, "the ancients might call age, sad, 
but that is not what we christians ought to do. If any old per- 
sons think there are about them, things that might sadden them 
a little, let them become christians, and this melancholy will 
change into something like a gentle prayer, always rising from 
within the soul." 

Every year that we are permitted to live, 
enhances the debt of gratitude. Yes, every 
full orbed year, with its four beautiful seasons. 



CHEERFUL OLD WOMEN. 273 

its twelve perfect months, its days and niglits, 
set in rose-diamond and ebony chased with 
gold, are glorious gems, for the casket of eter- 
nity. 

Oh Lord, our Governor! for every added 
year, receive our thanks. We will not hide 
their number, or prize them less because they 
are many ; but taking each, as a blessed gift 
from Thine Hand, embalm them with the 
melody of praise. 



CHAPTEE XIY. 



^^t^riug Sttukams. 



"Argue not 
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot 
Of heart or hope ; but still bear up, and steer 
Right onward. 

Milton. , 

How beautiful is the setting sun. Long lines 
of golden rays tremble along the horizon; 
crimson and purple like the banner of a king, 
go floating up the zenith. As a benefactor he 
retires from the scenes he has blessed, and 
through the calm twilight men tenderly remem- 
ber him. 

Thus should -a good life draw to its close, 
fruitful in benefits, and glowing with reflected 
love, until the evening star hangs out its silver 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 275 

crescent. Thus should its westeriuor sun- 
beams be treasured in the grateful hearts 
which have been cheered by its path of ra- 
diance. 

A selfish old age must be of necessity, an 
unhappy one. It is an indwelling with losses ; 
lost comeliness, lost vigor, lost pleasure, lost 
importance among the bright and swift current 
of moving things. The hopeless search for 
what is departed, depresses the spirits and pre- 
pares them to partake in the declension that 
marks the body. If whatever brings the mind 
into bondage must impair its force, — the decay 
of memory, of judgment the adjunct to memory, 
and of self-respect which in a measure depends 
on both, is more likely to occur and become 
palpable among aged persons who think princi- 
pally and permanently of themselves. It is 
cause for thankfulness if through the changes, 
the charities, or the trials of life, they have 
been taught to lower their own expectations from 
a w^orld they are soon to leave. Salutary and 
lovely is God's discipline with those whose long 
pilgrimage is nearly finished ; withdrawing the 



276 PAST MERIDIAN. 

props on which they leaned, loosemng the 
heart-strings that were too closely or proudly 
earth-bound, that the Soul, ere she tries her un- 
fettered wing, may '' spring up and take strong 
hold on Him who made her." 

It is pleasant to recall whatever of brilhance 
we may have seen orather around the western 
gate of life, and preserve it as a guiding light 
for the feet of others. How noble was the bra- 
very ^\'ith which the poet Dry den battled the 
storms of fortune, lifting an unquenched spirit 
like a torch amid rocks and waves. When he 
might through age have naturally wished to re- 
lax the pressure of literary labor, he was stimu- 
lated anew by paternal affections. Just on the 
verge of his seventieth year he was apprised 
of the approaching return of his son from Rome, 
in a feeble state of health ; and though he had 
scarcely completed the task of preparing the 
second edition of his translation of Virg-il for 
the press, he took no breathing time, but imme- 
diately contracted to supply a bookseller with 
ten thousand verses, at sixpence a line, saying 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 277 

pathetically of his invalid child, '' I can not 
spend my life better than in preserving his." 

Among the men, who taking in their hand, 
"their lives, their fortunes and their sacred 
honor," gave signature to the Magna Charta 
of our national freedom, quite a number were 
appointed to length of days, wdth unfaded re- 
nown. 

Of this band of fifty-six, some of whom, in 
the course of our Revolution, encountered dan- 
ger, as well as loss, it seems remarkable that 
ten should have survived to between eighty and 
ninety, and four to between ninety and an hun- 
dred. 

The Honorable Charles Carroll of Carrolton, 

Maryland, attained the greatest age, and long 

after his compeers had departed, lingered to 

witness the growth of the liberties which they 

had planted under the storm-cloud. He had 

received many advantages for the acquisition 

of knowledge, having been taken to Europe at 

the age of eight and placed under accomplished 

instructors. After a collegiate course in France, 

and the study of Law in England, he returned 

24 



278 PAST MERIDIAN. 

to his native land at twenty-eight, a finished 
scholar and gentleman. 

His powerful pen was early used in defence 
of the endangered States, — and a series of 
Essays published at an important crisis, had 
influence in arousing the zeal of patriotism, 
and aiding its successful result. 

Many offices of honor were appointed him 
in his own State, as well as those of Member 
of Congress, and Senator of the United States, 
in all of which he evinced high integrity and 
ability. His clearness of judgment, extensive 
learning and decision of character, gave w^eight 
to the opinions he advocated, and the course 
he pursued. 

At sixty-three, he chose to retire from public 
toils and distinctions. Then, his love of do- 
mestic and social intercourse, his vivacity of 
temper and refinement of taste, shone forth 
without a cloud. Pilgrimages were made by 
strangers, to see in his own nobly, hospitable 
mansion, this patriarch of the patriarchs. 
There, surrounded by his descendants, to the 
third generation, and venerated by all, on the 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 279 

14th of November, 1832, he ceased to Hve, fall- 
ing short only three years, of a complete cen- 
tury. 

The Honorable William Ellery of Newport, 
who from the memorable era of 1776, contin- 
ued nine years a member of Congress, after- 
ward took his seat as chief justice of the supe- 
rior court of Rhode Island. When the age of 
seventy released him from this office, he accep- 
ted that of collector of customs for his native 
city, affectionately serving her till the day of 
his death, which took place at the age of nine- 
ty-three. So social and agreeable was he, not- 
withstanding his advanced age, and such pow- 
ers of vivid and graphic narration did he con- 
tinue to possess, that the young sought his 
company for their own pleasure. 

It was on the morning of his death, February 
15th, 1820, that his family physician called, not 
professionally, but as a friend, to enjoy for half 
an hour his delightful society. In his usual 
health, he was seated in his arm-chair, reading 
Cicero de Officiis. But while the tide of con- 
versation flowed freely and brightly on, the 



280 PAST MERIDIAN. 

quick eye of the medical man detected a 
change in his venerated companion. He was 
laid upon the bed, but resumed reading the 
page which was interesting him when his friend 
entered. Gently the pulse ceased its motion, 
and the unclouded mind glided from its tene- 
ment of clay. Deep humility of spirit was the 
gift of this extraordinary man, and a firmness 
in duty, not influenced by human applause or 
blame. The wheels of life moved more calm- 
ly, and perhaps longer, from the serene tempe- 
rament of his religion, which under every ob- 
stacle or misfortune solaced his own soul and 
that of others with the sublime precept, " The 
Lord reigneth, let the earth rejoice." 

The sunbeams of usefulness have some- 
times lingered to a late period around the heads 
of those w^ho had taken part in the pioneer 
hardships of our new settlements. I think now 
of one, but recently deceased, at the age of 
eighty-five — Judge Burnett, who w^as numbered 
among the founders of Ohio, that state which 
sprang from its cradle with the vigor of a giant. 
After the completion of his classical and legal 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 281 

studies, he exchanged his fair ancestral home 
in New Jersey for a residence at Cincinnati, 
then in its rudest stages of development. As 
he climbed the steep river-bank he saw only 
scattered cabins, a few framed buildings and a 
log fort, marking the frontier of civilized life. 
Conforming his habits to those of an unrefined 
community, and claiming but a few physical 
comforts, he exercised his profession in the 
courts of Detroit and Vincennes, when travel- 
ing was by bridle paths, by blazed trees, ford- 
ing wild streams and camping on the wet 
ground. Educated in the school of Washing- 
ton and of Hamilton, who w^ere honored guests 
at his father's house during the forming period 
of his life, he nobly dispersed around him the 
wealth of an upright and polished mind. By 
persevering industry and moral and religious 
worth, he won general confidence : and in due 
time a seat in the senate of the United States, 
and upon the bench of the supreme court of 
Ohio, attested the respect of the people. Pop- 
ulation spread around him like the pageantry 
of a dream, and Cincinnati, among whose rudi- 

24* 



282 PAST MERIDIAN. 

ments his manly hand had wrought, echoed ere 
his departure to the rushing tread of 130,000 
inhabitants. His health had been originally 
feeble, but the endurance of hardship, and 
what is still more remarkable, the access of 
years, confirmed it. At more than fourscore 
he moved through the streets with as erect a 
form, an eye as intensely bright, and colloquial 
powers as free and fascinating, as at thirty. 
When full of knowledge and benevolence, and 
with an unimpaired intellect, he passed away, 
it was felt that not only one of the fathers of a 
young land had fallen, but that one of the 
bright and beautiful lights of society had been 
extinguished. 

Of Daniel Webster it was affirmed that the 
clearness of his own great mind continued to 
increase and to flow forth with even a fuller ra- 
diance at seventy, than in his prime. Like the 
reformer Wycliffe, he was more and more 
•' intent upon being understood, intent upon im- 
parting the conviction or passion of his own 
mind to other minds." With this sins^leness 
of purpose, and power of truth, was also 



WESTEEING SUNBEAMS. 283 

mingled a depth of feeling, scarcely indicated 
by his massive form and majestic deportment. 
" Yet," said an old man of more than eighty, 
who had long intimately known him, '' he could 
sympathize with all. Ever had he a kindly 
word for the child, the youth, and him of hoary 
hairs. He could not look upon a fair landscape 
or fields waving with grain, without blessing 
God for permitting him to live in a world so 
teeming with beauty." Thus, with the radi- 
ance of thought and feeling, still glowing in 
his deep-set eye, 

" How well he fell asleep ! 
Like some grand river widening toward the sea, 
Calmly and grandly, silently and deep, 
Life joined eternity." 

The capacity of the Duke of Wellington as 
a counsellor in all matters of state, a wise di- 
rector of his own large estates, and an orna- 
ment in society, was as great at eighty-five, as 
during any previous period. His bodily activ- 
ity and powers of endurance were also remark- 
able, though in boyhood his constitution was 



284 PAST MERIDIAN. 

pronounced extremely delicate. More than 
once I have observed with delight his arrival 
at the House of Lords, on some wintry morn- 
ing, on horseback, when, throwing his reins to 
the single servant who attended him, he would 
proceed with vigorous step, and cheek bright- 
ened by exposure to the keen air, up those long 
flights of stairs, which in the old parliament 
building, were formidable to younger feet. 

One evening he was seized while in his 
place, with sudden illness, like a premonition 
of paralysis. In leaving the house, he chanced 
to drop his hat, and realizing with singular 
clearness of mind that should he stop to regain 
it, the rush of blood through the brain might 
be dangerously quickened, passed on without 
it, holding his head in its usually very upright 
position. One of the peers, noticing his de- 
parture, anxiously followed and finding he had 
no carriage in attendance, induced him to ac- 
cept his own, and return home. For two or 
three days bulletins were issued from Apsley 
House, to allay the anxiety of the people, with 
whom he was an idol. Then again appearing 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 285 

in his accustomed parliamentary seat, he sus- 
tained some pending resolution with a brief 
and lucid speech, proving that indomitable en- 
ergy and strength of will, which pervaded even 
the latest period of his existence. 

England is still happy in the protracted light 
shed upon her counsels, by heads that wear 
the silver crown of age. At seventy-eight, Lord 
Brougham speaks much and well ; Lords Lans- 
downe and Aberdeen at more than threescore 
and ten, are eminent ministers of state ; and 
Lord Lyndhurst, the son of our own artist Cop- 
ley, is in his eighty-fifth year, hale and vigorous, 
able to take an active part in the discussion of ^ 
the most intricate public affairs, and ranked 
by good judges among the greatest of living 
orators. 

Born in the same year with Lord Lyndhurst, 
and in the same fair city of Boston, the Hon. 
Josiah Quincy still exhibits unbroken powers 
of mind and body. The pen retains its force 
that traced in early life the memorial of his 
illustrious father, and afterward gave to our 
country, beside other valued works, a history 



286 PAST MERIDIAN. 

in two volumes of her most ancient seat of 
learning, Harvard University, over which he 
had himself presided with honor for more than 
sixteen years. The fervid eloquence which on 
the floor of Congress, and on so many civic oc- 
casions, cast forth its bold metaphors and cor- 
uscations of wit, is not yet extinguished. It 
is probably an unprecedented fact that at the 
age of more than fourscore, he should have 
been urged to accept a nomination to the may- 
oralty of his native city, an office which he 
had held thirty years before ; leaving at his re- 
tirement indelible marks of his taste and effi- 
ciency in the financial prosperity, the humane 
institutions, and elegant structures of this 
Athens of New England. 

At his delightful summer residence in Quincy, 
superintending the minute and perfectly bal- 
anced policies of his rural domain, he enter- 
tains his guests with that fine blending of 
frankness and dignity peculiar to the true gen- 
tlemen of the old school. It is a pleasure to 
see his erect form, healthful complexion, and 
what is still more remarkable in our changeful 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 287 

climate, an entire set of white teeth which the 
art of the dentist has never interpolated. Sur- 
rounded by the sweetest filial affections, the 
man whom the eloquent Everett has pronounced 
the '' ornament of the forum, the senate and 
the academy," gracefully, exchanges the pur- 
suits of Cicero for those of Cincinnatus. 

From his fair estate at Brookline, in the vicin- 
ity of Boston, where so many have been made 
happy by hospitality and benevolence, has been 
recently transferred to a higher state of exist- 
ence, Col. Thomas H. Perkins, in his ninetieth 
year. It was to me a source of exulting pleasure, 
while abroad, to meet him arriving in London, 
wdth unalloyed spirits, an energetic and excel- 
lent traveler, both by sea and land, though 
then on the confines of fourscore The voyage, 
from which so many young persons shrink, 
was to him no obstacle ; indeed, he afterward 
repeated it, enjoying the changeful and boister- 
ous scenery of ocean, as when in his prime. 

His munificence, with its living rays, bright- 
ened until life's sunset. His sympathies for 
the sightless had been expressed by such large 



288 PAST MERIDIAN. 

bounties, among others, the gift of a mansion, 
valued at forty thousand dollars, that the insti- 
tute for their instruction was incorporated by 
the name of the " Perkins Asylum for the 
Blind." Truly was it said of him by Mr. Ste- 
venson, at an assemblage of the merchants 
of Boston, whose profession he had so honor- 
ably represented throughout a long life : 

'' Literature, science and art, each received 
his homage and his sacrifices ; but his chosen 
altar was in the temple of charity. No story 
of distress fell upon his ear, without making 
his manly heart throb to the overflow of tears. 
It was not weakness, but greatness in him. 
Those tears were the mingled offspring of sor- 
row and of joy ; sorrow for suffering, and joy 
that he could do something to alleviate it. 

" ' His full heart kept his full hand open.' " 

A touching scene occurred in Fanueil Hall, 
the year previous to his death. Daniel Web- 
ster, speaking there with fervid eloquence, of 
the liberal aid that had been rendered to the 
cause of education, morality, want and woe, by 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 289 

the affluence of Boston, alluded personally to 
the venerable Colonel Perkins, then seated near 
him on the platform. 

'' Will he rise at my request," he exclaimed, 
'' and show his benevolent countenance to the 
people ? " 

He who had been of old distinguished by a 
lofty form and kingly beauty, stood up in the 
feebleness of hoary time. Three cheers, into 
which the heart of grateful thousands were 
merged, rent the concave. And yet three more 
followed. 

Then the great orator said with trembling 
lip: 

" God bless him ! He is an honor to his city, 
an honor to his state, an honor to his country. 
His memory will be perfumed by his benevo- 
lent actions, and go dow^n a sweet odor to our 
children's children." 

Still traversing the streets of Boston, in his 
eighty-fifth year, regardless of winter's cold, 
or summer's heat, may be seen the venerable 
missionary, the Rev. Charles Cleveland, intent 
on deeds of mercy. The orphan, so often 

25 



290 PAST MERIDIAN. 

overlooked in the world's great strife, the suffer- 
ing widow, the poor emigrant, with his sick 
stranger heart, hear, approaching their desolate 
attic, or dark, damp cellar, a tireless foot, and 
are cheered by the blessed smile of one who 
like the aged apostle John, has concentrated all 
christian duty in the precept to ' love one another.' 
In a school for infants, under the superintendence 
of his wife, he manifests continual interest, and 
by affectionate deportment, and kind counsel 
to all, without distinction of sect, shows the 
perpetual play of those hallowed sunbeams 
that repel the depression of age, and herald an 
unclouded day. 

In the department of editorial labor, whose 
unresting, keen-eyed research, is rewarded in 
our age and country, by such immense influ- 
ence over public opinion, there have been in- 
stances of the long and prosperous endurance 
of the severe tax it imposes, both on mind and 
body. Among these, the Hon. Theodore 
Dwight, was eminently distinguished. A na- 
tive of Massachusetts, he resided the greater 
part of his life in Connecticut and New York, 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 291 

and conducted in both of the last-named states, 
different weekly periodicals, for the space of 
half a century. He also stood a faithful senti- 
nel at that unslumbering post, the head of a 
daily newspaper of large circulation, in the city 
of New York. His fine literary taste did not 
confine itself to editorial articles, but in consec- 
utive works, as well as on the floor of Congress, 
he was appreciated by his countrymen. Age 
did not dim his intellect, or his remarkable col- 
loquial powers. He continued to write with 
the same rapidity and acuteness that had mark- 
ed his early prime ; the messenger often taking 
the pages wet with ink to the waiting press. 
Well do I remember the radiance of his ex- 
pressive black eye, when those coruscations 
of wit kindled, which eighty-two winters had 
not quelled, or when the smile of earnest 
friendship, or hallowed affection, lighted up a 
face beautiful to the last. 

The gentler sex have occasionally adventured 
into the arduous and responsible post of Editor ; 
and among these, Mrs. Ann Royal continued to 
conduct a paper in the city of Washington, with 



292 PAST MERIDIAN. 

an unclouded spirit, until the age of eighty-five. 
In the same city, the venerable Editors of the 
" National Intelligencer," continue unimpaired 
their professional toils. Col. Seaton, who 
mingles with indefatigable industry, a singular 
urbanity, has received among other marks of 
popular favor, repeated elections to the mayor- 
alty; and his associate, Mr. Gales, with his 
still bright eye and expansive benevolence, has 
been characterized by a discriminating pen, as 
"a politician w^ithout seeking office, and a states- 
man, without holding it." 

Col. Green, one of the earhest Editors, wdio 
gave Connecticut her weekly "folio of four 
pages," is still clear-minded, and full of happiness 
in his ninetieth year, — and Col. Ward, who at 
the same great age, retains after a hfe of active 
business, a memory wonderfully tenacious of 
dates, facts and historical incidents, are among 
the most interesting representatives of the past, 
that Hartford can boast. The same pleasant 
city, numbers with its most honored dwellers. 
Chief Justice Williams, who veils profound 
learning, with true humility, and on the thresh- 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 293 

old of fourscore, is ready with the bright smile, 
and earnest voice of early years, to promote 
every work of benevolence, patriotism, or piety. 

For still, to all of human-kind, a friend. 
And ne'er from paths of equity enticed, 

He skills with heavenly alchemy to blend 

The lore of Themis, with the Cross of Christ. 

Among the most genial spirits of the age, is 
the venerable Dr. John W. Francis of New 
York. Time seems to have levied no tax on 
his enthusiasm in intellectual pursuits, in friend- 
ship, or in charity. The Mentor of his profession, 
he warmly extends to the young medical prac- 
titioner, the helping hand, or the word of encour- 
aorement. The oldest member of the Historical 
Society of the Empire city, his authority is deci- 
sive as an antiquarian, so vast and precise are his 
retentive and recollective powers. He is a writer 
of versatility and force, a favorite in literary 
circles, while his conversation and manners 
are replete with such a glow of feeling, as 
sets the frosts of age at defiance. 

In every grade and occupation are some- 

25* 



294 PAST MERIDIAN. 

times found instances of protracted usefulness, 
mingling with that hopeful, cheerful tempera- 
ment, which is supposed to appertain to the 
earlier periods of life. This is illustrated in 
the following extracts from one of those letters 
with which Grant Thorburn, the octogenarian 
florist, occasionally interests the public, through 
the medium of pur various periodicals. 

New York, February 18, 1854. 

" This day I enter on my eighty-second year ; my health as 
good, my appetite as good, I rehsh my food as well, and I sleep 
as well, as when in my thirtieth year ; and for this, I thank the 
Qi'oer of all Good. The sceptic may sneer and the fool may 
laugh, it is but the crackling of thorns under a pot. You may 
call this egotism, or any ism that you please, but I think that in- 
gratitude is worse than the sin of witchcraft. ' What shall I 
render to the Lord for all his benefits ? ' 

" For the last sixty years, I have been only one day confined 
to my dwelling by sickness. Seventeen of these summers were 
spent in the city, when yellow fever, like a Turkish plague, 
made our streets desolate, and strong men dropped like grass 
beneath the scythe of the mower. The doctors of law, physic, 
and divinity, the board of health, the mayor and the ancient 
men of the city, all affirmed that the fever was contagious. If 
so, I have a higher power than Cliance to thank for the preser- 
vation of myself and family ; for neither my wife, myself, nor 
any of my thirteen children, were ever aflfected by this fatal dis- 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 295 

ease. The exemption was the more remarkable, as I spent 
much of my time in the chambers of death and at the sick bed 
of the dying. 

"In the dreadful fever of 1798, from the 15th to the 22d of 
September, I had seven patients. They lay in three different 
wards near half a mile apart. I traveled day and night, from 
one house to another, they having none to give them a cup of 
cold water, myself excepted. Four of them died ; three recov- 
ered ; thousands died alone. 

" I will narrate in eighty minutes my journey of twice forty 
years through the wilderness of this world. Many, and full of 
good have been the days of my pilgrimage. When I left Scot- 
land in April, 1794, I was in my twent3^-second year. The 
amount of my education was to read the Bible and write my 
own name. Previous to this, I had never been twenty miles 
from the house wherein I was born, and, with regard to men 
and their manners, I was as ignorant as a babe. 

" The first night I slept on shore in America, was on the 17th 
of June, in an open garret, with my head within eighteen inches 
of the shingle roof, my ship's matrass spread on the floor. The 
night was hot. A thunder storm arose at midnight — the rain 
descended — the floods beat on the frail roof, and great was the 
terror of my heart. The lightning flashed, the thunder rolled ; 
I had never seen or heard the like in Scotland, and I wished my- 
self at hcane again. Sleep fled from mine eyes, and slumber 
from my eyelids. I rose at daybreak — head-ache, heart-ache — 
and my spirits sunk down to my heels. Being a stranger, I was 
loth to disturb the family by going forth so early ; to amuse two 
Hstless hours, I opened my case of books to spread them on the 
floor ; as they had been fourteen weeks in the hold of the ves- 



296 PAST MERIDIAN. 

sel, I feared they were mildewed. On the top, lay a small pock- 
et Bible ; it was placed there by the hands of my pious father. 
I opened the book. " My son," met my eye. For a moment, I 
thought my father spoke. I read to the end of the chapter — it 
was the third of Proverbs. It is near sixty years since that mor- 
ning, but, at every cross-road, when not knowing whither to 
turn, to the right hand or the left, on referring to this chapter, I 
found written, " This is the way, walk ye in it." 



" "Whether I shall see another birth-day, or whether I shall 
see another Sabbath, it matters not. I know He will keep what 
I have committed to his charge." 

It would be well if cheering social intercourse 
were more cultivated among those who share 
in the sympathies of many years. A lady of 
ninety-three, in one of the villages of Massa- 
chusetts, lately entertained at her tea-table, a 
party of seven friends of both sexes, whose 
ages ranged from seventy to eighty-six. True 
satisfaction and a decorous hilarity marked the 
festival. Much had they to say, for their uni- 
ted experience covered an area of six hundred 
and fifty years. Rural employments had pro- 
bably contributed to preserve their health ; for 
all were dwellers upon their own farms, within 



WESTERING SUNBEAMS. 297 

the vicinity of a square mile, so that neighborly 
intimacy gave a zest to their intercourse, and 
no snows of age had been allowed to obstruct 
the avenues of friendship. 

It is desirable that the lambent light of hap- 
piness should beam from the countenance and 
life of those who have long set a good exam- 
ple, thus making virtue attractive, and dispel- 
ling the dread which the young feel of becom- 
ing old. 

Is not the parting sun beautiful in a wintry 
landscape ? The whitened hillocks wear a 
faint rose-crown, and the trees glitter in their 
frost-work drapery, as if for a birth-night. 

Does any one ask how this " house of our 
pilgrimage" may be illumined, when shadows 
steal around, and perchance, those that " look 
out of the windows are darkened ?" Are there 
not some dwellings which are lighted from 
above ? We would fain have a sky-hght that 
shall not fail us ; one that we can look up to, 
and be glad. We are not satisfied with a cold 
•lustre in Memory's halls, or with a solitary 
star-beam. 



298 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Can we not have a fire on the hearth, when 
whiter gathers around us ? Yes, we will keep 
love in our hearts, while they beat, that there 
may be warmth, as well as radiance. 

Thus, may our day of life draw toward its 
close. At "evening-time may it be light." In thy 
light, O Father of our spirits, may we see light; 
that walking in love here below, we may come 
at last, in thy good time, to that glorious world, 
where there is no more night, and where the 
sunbeam of love is eternal. 



CHAPTEE XV. 



Ye who hold 
Proud tenantry in earth, and call your lands 
By your own names, and lock your cofiFer'd gold 
From him who for a bleeding Saviour's sake 
Doth ask a part, — whose shall those treasures be. 
When like the grass-blade smit by autumn -frost, 
Ye fall away ? 

It is a mournful thought that men should 
become more attached to earthly possessions 
when about to leave them, or grasp them with 
so great intensity that the final separation must 
be forcible and afflictive. 

But is this statement true ? Do such cases 
often occur? If so, are there no remedies ? 

As we are creatures of habit, adhesiveness 
undoubtedly gathers strength from time. Since 



300 PAST MERIDIAN. 

what we have been habituated to do, or to see, 
becomes unconsciously interwoven with our 
existence, so what we have been accustomed 
to have and to hold, may grow closer to our 
hearts as life recedes, causing those who in 
youth were merely prudent, to be at last, the 
victims of avarice. Still, the extreme of this 
passion is not often witnessed, inasmuch as a 
miser is a marked creature, held up for observa- 
tion and comment, both in passing life and in 
history. 

All the subtle talents of Mazarin, were not 
able to gild his rapacity^ or hide it from the con- 
terdpt of coming ages. The solemn warning 
of his confessor, that to purchase peace of con- 
science, he must make restitution of unjust 
gains, failed to overcome his insatiable habit of 
hoarding. The frank assurance of his physi- 
cian, that though but just upon the verge of six- 
ty, the revolution of two brief moons, was the 
utmost limit of his days, embittered with terror 
both his waking and sleeping moments. Then, 
his two hundred millions of livres passed be- 
fore him, in review, each one as dear as ever. 



ABOUT MONEY. 801 

To enrich his relatives, the haughty family of 
Mancini, was probably an excuse made by the 
wily cardinal, for his unequalled avarice, but 
the root was in the love of it. Some rare gems, 
and peculiarly precious treasures, were placed 
in bags beneath his pillow. After struggles of 
deadly anguish, which increasing disease in- 
duced, he stretched his weak, emaciated hands 
to feel if they were still there. The fearful 
Spoiler, drawing every hour more near, he 
might have apostrophized in the words ascribed 
to one of England's great and unhappy states- 
men. 

" If thou be'est death, I'll give a nation's treasure, 
Enough to purchase such another island, 
So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain." 

Other extreme cases might be cited, but this 
is not our object. It is rather to recommend 
such antidotes as are the most obvious, if we 
admit that avarice is a disease indigenous to 
life in its decline. 

The first prescription would be, jyay all 
debts. There is religion in it. If we are using, 

26 



302 PAST MERIDIAN. 

or have the name of possessing anything for 
which the owner has not been fully remunera- 
ted, let us lose no time in rendering adequate 
compensation. It is better always to do 
without what we cannot justly afford to pur- 
chase, than avail ourselves of what literally be- 
longs to another: and the weight of undis- 
charged obligation, grows heavier as we draw 
nearer our own final account. It is at all times 
a clog to the free spirit, a yoke that bows down 
independence of thought and purpose. '^ Pov- 
erty without debt is independence," says an 
Arabian proverb. The blessed Founder of 
our faith, to his command to " render to all 
their dues," added the force of his own exam- 
ple, in the payment of tribute to the Rorman ru- 
ler. An old author has quaintly remarked, 
"Even when Christ borrowed Peter's boat to 
preach a sermon out of, he paid him for the 
same with a great draught of fishes." The 
wise monarch of Israel attaches the epithet of 
wickedness to that too common forgetfulness 
of equity, '^ borrowing and paying not again." 
The spirit of acquisitiveness is a temptation to 



ABOUT MONEY. . 303 

vice. It confuses the simple principles of 
right and wrong. The fearful frauds that mark 
modern days, and our own country, bid us to 
strengthen every foundation of equity, and be- 
ware of the spirit of 

" These feverish times, 
That putting the how-much hefore the hoio, 
Cry like the daughters of the horse-leech, give." 

How forcible were the words of the eloquent 
Patrick Henry, on his death-bed, to his children, 
•' If I could will to give you the Christian reli- 
gion, how gladly would I do so ; for with this 
and without any earthly possession, you would 
be infinitely rich : without it, though with all 
else that the heart can wish, you would be mis- 
erably poor." 

The apostolic injunction, ''Owe no man any- 
thing, except to love one another," gathers 
strength and significance, with every added 
year. The luxury of giving, cannot be fairly 
enjoyed, while debts remain unliquidated. ''Be 
just before you are generous," is a precept as 
admirable for its innate truth, as for its garb of 
simplicity. Punctual and cheerful payment of 



304 PAST MERIDIAN. 

wages to the laborer is a form of benevolence. 
To withhold hard-earned dues, or to render them 
churlishly, is anti-christian. A philanthropist, 
who in his business employed many operatives, 
was in the habit of paying them all at stated 
periods, and of adding, if possible, some kind 
word of counsel, saying it was a '' good time 
to sow a good seed, when there was a sunbeam 
to quicken it." 

Repress the spirit of accumulation. This 
has been said to increase with years. Yet the 
faculties which it calls into exercise are adverse 
to the tranquility which is usually coveted in 
Hfe's decline. Its progress must, therefore, be 
traced to the force of a habit, against which 
reason remonstrates. 

The fever of speculation, the eagerness of 
gain, the disappointment of loss, all the intense 
gradations from exultation to despair, are inap- 
posite and hurtful to a being who cannot long 
partake that for which he barters so much ; and 
whose wisdom is rather to seek wealth in the 
country where he is about to dwell. The value 
of every species of property depends upon the 



ABOUT MONEY. 305 

period in which it may be rendered available, 
or upon its probability of continuance. A bond 
about to expire, a house ready to fall, an estate 
which the mortgagee might at any moment 
claim, would not be coveted as investments by 
the prudent. To the aged all earth's posses- 
sions, being deficient in the article of time, 
which is the breath of their nostrils, are far less 
worthy of fervent search, than when in early 
prime, they were encouraged by hope to asso- 
ciate them with a long term of years. Such 
meditations, probably, induced a man of labo- 
rious and successful acquisition to say, ''I will 
add no more to my capital hereafter ; and 
the surplus of all my income shall be the 
Lord's." 

Cultivate the habit of giving. This great 
pleasure may have been reserved for later 
years as a compensation for those enjoyments 
w^hich time has taken away. The aged, by 
their position, are peculiarly solicited to make 
trial whether it is not better to give than to re- 
ceive. Chrysotom has well said that ^' a man 
does not become rich by laying up abundance 

26* 



306 PAST MERIDIAN. 

but by laying out abundance : — that is laying it 
out for God." 

There is force in that quaint epitaph, 

" What I saved I lost, 
What I spent I had, 
What I gave I kept." 

'' I think I am rich enough," said Pope, after 
his writings became productive, " to give avv^ay 
one hundred pounds a year. I w^ould not crawl 
upon the earth without doing a little good. I 
will enjoy the pleasure of giving what I have 
to give by doing it while I am alive, and seeing 
others enjoy it. I should be ashamed to leave 
enough for a monument if there was a friend in 
want above ground." 

Many examples might be cited were time 
and space mine, where similar resolutions have 
been adopted as the motto and guide of life, un- 
til the spirit blessing all whom it met, was 
wafted by gratitude below, to songs of melody 
above. Such an one has been just removed 
from among us. Anson G. Phelps, Esq., of 
New York, who by his own unaided industry, 



ABOUT MONEY. 307 

became the possessor of a large fortune, through 
untiring deeds of philanthropy kept his heart 
tender and open to the wants and woes of man- 
kind. Time, money and sympathy were with 
him ever ready for the claims of beneficence, 
whether large or small. To the Being who 
had prospered his labors, he thus considered 
himself accountable, and this conscientious 
discharge of duty was blessed as one of his 
highest joys. Until more than threescore and 
ten years had passed over him, he attended 
with undiminished judgment to the concerns of 
a great commercial estabhshment, and the in- 
terests of many associated and individual forms 
of benevolence. Amid the sufferings and lan- 
guor of decline, his mind peacefully resting up- 
on that God whom from youth he had served, 
still occupied itself in plans of liberality. With- 
in two or three days of his death, while arrang- 
ing^ for a donation of several thousand dollars to 
some religious design, a beloved one expressed 
fear that it mio^ht too much tax his feeble 
strength and proposed that it should be left to 
the care of others, but he replied, " My busi- 



308 PAST MERIDIAN. 

ness has long been to save that I might give, 
and I wish to continue it while life lasts." More 
than half a million is dedicated in his will to 
the charities which he had long patronized, 
and beside other bequests to his twenty-two 
grandchildren, was the sum of $5000 for each, 
the interest of which was to be annually devo- 
ted to deeds of religious bounty. Thus did he 
seek, even when he should be numbered with 
the dead, to lead his descendants in those paths 
of Christian charity which he had loved. 
Among the objects of philanthropy in his own 
city, the Asylum for the Blind had shared 
largely in his bounties and sympathies. Its 
inmates, at his frequent visits, gathered around 
him to take his hand as that of a father. Their 
thrilling and tuneful voices poured forth the 
tearful melody of a hymn at his thronged fune- 
ral obsequies. 

'' How those blind children will miss him !" 
said a clergyman in his address, at the church 
where for many years he had worshiped. 
" They never saw his benignant face, but they 
well knew the kind voice of their benefactor. 



ABOUT MONEY. 309 

How do all the blessed affections of humanity, 
how do all the sacred hopes of religion, delight 
to hover over a good man's grave." 

Another counsel which we venture to o^ive, 
is to superintend personally, as far as possible, 
such plans of benevolence as are approved and 
adopted. This is true economy. We best un- 
derstand our own designs. It may not always 
be feasible, perfectly to incorporate them with 
the mind of another. ^' He who uses the min- 
istry of many agents, says a profound moralist, 
may be by some of them misunderstood and by 
others deceived." 

Why should we not enjoy the pleasure of 
dispensing our own gifts ? " Come, please to 
give us something," said a shrewd nurse to an 
invalid and rather parsimonious old lady ; ^'give 
us all something now and see us look pleasant 
while you are alive." There was philosophy 
here as well as policy. 

Illustrations of this position are so numerous 
that it is embarrassing and almost inviduous to 
select. 

The late Hon. Samuel Appleton, of Boston, 



310 PAST MERIDIAN. 

who lived to almost the verge of ninety, was 
distinguished by the practical efficiency of chari- 
ty. The exercise of a clear judgment kept 
pace with his persevering liberality. In carry- 
ing out such designs as he decided to adopt, the 
amount of his benevolence often exceeded 
$25,000 annually. So long did he pursue this 
blessed husbandry, that he was enabled to see 
ripening fruits from the germs he had planted 
in the sterile soil of poverty and ignorance. 

It is pleasant to observe how his discrimina- 
ting and unimpaired mind simply and senten- 
tiously expressed itself, in presenting a dona- 
tion of ten thousand dollars to a venerated 
scholastic institution. 

" It affords me much pleasure to have it in my power to do 
something for the only College in my native State, which has 
done so much to establish a sound literary character in the 
country. 

" Dartmouth has done her full proportion in educating for the 
pulpit, the bar, the healing art, and the senate, good and great 
men, who have done honor to their names, to the College and 
the Country. 

" May New Hampshire long continue to send forth from her 
literary emporium, men who will dispense among their fellows, 



ABOUT MONEY. 311 

religion, law, and the other arts and sciences, in simplicity, puri- 
ty, and truth." 

Though few have the amount of wealth to 
dispense, which fell to the lot of this unwea- 
ried philanthropist, yet the zeal which deter- 
mined as far as possible, to be its own execu- 
tor, is imitable. Those who trust to others, 
even during life, are not sure of having their 
plans executed. Much less can this be expect- 
ed when they are dead. Agents may fail or 
betray. They may be absorbed with their own 
business and ours be delayed or forgotten. A 
large portion of testamentary charities perhaps 
never reach the most available points of the 
object which their donors contemplated. 

The habit of promptly making their multi- 
form plans of benevolence available, was con- 
spicuous in the brothers Amos and Abbot Law- 
rence, of Boston, those shining lights in the 
galaxy of goodness. One in heart, in devising 
and executing liberal things, they are doubtless 
reunited where '' charity never faileth." We 
borrow the expressive language of one of the 
biographers of the elder brother, whose boun- 



312 PAST MERIDIAN. 

ties during the last ten years of his Ufe were 
supposed to have amounted to half a million 
of dollars. 

"It is known," says the Kev. Dr. Hopkins, "that his habit of 
giving liberally, extended back to the period of his earliest pros- 
perity, and kept pace with its growth. Pie had a sense of reli- 
gious obligation, as well as a benevolent heart and with the same 
sagacity that governed his business transactions, perceived the 
tendency there is in accumulation to increase the love of money, 
and guarded against it. 

" He did not dispense his bounty at random, nor yet by any 
rigid and inflexible system, that could not be moulded and 
shaped by the calls or aspects of each passing day. 

"He aided family connections near and remote, and old 
friends and acquaintances. If any of them needed a few hun- 
dred dollars to help them over a difficult position, it was sure to 
come. But his sympathy was not limited at all to kindred or 
acquaintance, or in any way narrowed by sect or party. He 
was a true man, in sympathy with suffering humanity, and was 
always glad, it gave him real pleasure, to find a worthy object 
of his bounty. He sought out such objects. He learned histo- 
ries of reverses, and of noble struggles with adversity, that were 
stranger than fiction. Those thus struggling he placed in posi- 
tions to help themselves, furnishing them, if necessary, with 
sums from one hundred to a thousand dollars, or more, as freely 
as he would have given a cup of cold water. He visited alms- 
houses, and hospitals, and insane asylums, and retreats for the 
deaf and dumb, and the blind, and became deeply interested in 
many of their inmates. He was watchful of every thing needed 



ABOUT MONEY. 313 

there for comfort or for instruction, and his presence always car- 
ried sunshine with it. He distributed useful books. He aided 
genius, and encouraged promising talent. A true son of New 
England, he appreciated education, and gave his money and his 
influence to extend it, and to elevate its standard in every grade 
of our institutions, from the primary school ^o the College and 
the Professional Seminary." 

The forms of benevolence change. Those 
objects which twenty years since were promi- 
nent, are now in a measure obsolete, or super- 
seded by others. If we have selected one 
which seems fitting and feasible, let us see to 
it ourselves. Our heirs will probably have 
concerns enough of their own, and not care to 
be burdened with ours also. 

Me thinks I hear a murmured rejoinder, 
" there are various forms of charity I should 
like to patronize, but I must save for my chil- 
dren, and I have poor relations." 

These are the keytones which covetousness 
has struck for ages, and with such force as 
often to bewilder itself There is in them a 
semblance of justice and of conscience, while 
the root is at best a concealed selfishness. The 
hoarding for descendants, which at first view 

27 



814 PAST MERIDIAN. 

seems paternal and amiable, may be hurtful to 
those whose benefit it contemplates. The ex- 
pectation of wealth may paralyze their indus- 
try. Its possession may check their sympa- 
thies, perhaps endanger their souls. If we 
adopt the charity that hegins at home, let us 
see that it does not become bed-ridden and die 
at home. For wherever there is one of God's 
family who is in sorrow, or ignorance, or needs 
bread or a garment, or is sick, or in prison to 
vice or despair, let the same be to us as our 
" brother and sister and mother." 

The possession of property involves an obli- 
gation of stewardship, both to the Giver and to 
our fellow-creatures ; an obligation which re- 
ceding life renders more imperative and sacred. 
We would not stand before our Judge with rust 
upon our souls, derived from the gold that per- 
ishes. Of its unrighteous gathering, its unjust 
detention, or unkind denial to any in the hour 
of need, we would be guiltless in the dread 
day of account. 

I have somewhere seen four homely rules 



ABOUT MONEY. 315 

which comprise true wisdom, and whose obser- 
vance would prevent much remorse : 
^' 1. Do all the good you can; 

2. In all the ways you can ; 

3. To all the people you can ; 

4. Just as long as you can." 

There are some who in their desires to do 
good are discouraged if they must operate on 
a small scale, or be bounded by a narrow circle. 
They erroneously associate large benefactions, 
with the pure element of benevolence. Such 
persons may be consoled by Mahomet's expla- 
nation of good deeds to our race. His defini- 
tion embraced the wide circle of all possible 
kindness. Every good act he would say is 
charity. Your smiling in your brother's face is 
charity ; an exhortation of your fellow-man to 
virtuous deeds is equal to alms-giving ; your 
putting a wanderer in the right road is charity ; 
your assisting the blind is charity ; your remov- 
ing stones, and thorns, and other obstructions 
from the road, is charity ; your giving water to 
the thirsty is charity. A man's true wealth 
hereafter is the good he does in this world to 



816 PAST MERIDIAN. 

his fellow-man. When he dies, people will 
say, '' what property has he left behind him ? '' 
But the angels will ask, " what good deeds has 
he sent before him? " 

And now, if any of us who have together 
mused on this subject, realize that the time is 
short, let us the more strenuously fulfill defer- 
red resolutions and undischarged duties. Let 
us pay what we owe, and break the slavery of 
money getting, and study the science of char- 
ity in the love of it, and learn the joy of being 
our own almoners. For to all, whether young 
or old, who are still seeking the good things of 
this transitory state, the warning of an ancient 
writer is appropriate : 

" Build your nest upon no tree here, for God 
hath sold the whole forest unto Death; and 
every tree whereupon we would rest is ready 
to be cut down. Therefore, let us flee, and 
mount up, and make our abode among the cliffs, 
and dwell in the sides of the Great Everlasting 
Rock " 



CHAPTER XVI. 



" He prayeth best, who loveth best. 



Coleridge. 



It is sometimes the case, that good and kind- 
hearted people, imbibe on certain points, a rig- 
idity of opinion, or an undue expectation of 
conformity, which is both disagreeable and in- 
expedient. It is a kind of despotism, against 
which enlightened intellect revolts. I am not 
ignorant that it has been numbered among the 
tendencies of age, though I have never observ- 
ed it to be exclusively confined to that period. 
On the contrary, I have seen and admired in 
many old persons, an increase of candor, a re- 
luctance to condemn, and a mitigation of all 
austerity, like the mellowing of rich fruit, ripe 

27* 



318 PAST MERIDIAN. 

for the harvest. Those amiable friends seemed 
to have taken the advice of the clear-minded 
and benevolent Franklin, not to tarry in the 
basement rooms of the Christian edifice, but to 
make haste and get into the upper chamber, 
which is warm with the sunlight of charity. 

While we concede liberty of judgment to 
others, we should use courtesy in the express- 
ion of our own. It is both fitting and wise, 
that dissenting opinions should be wrapped in 
gentle speech. Were it always so, much of 
the bitterness of strife would evaporate, and 
controversies lulled into harmony, make only a 
stronger music to the ear of humanity. 

If dogmatism has been considered a con- 
comitant of age, in former times, it w^ould 
surely be well to dismiss it in our own. The 
world itself has so changed its aspects, capaci- 
ties and modes of action, during the last half 
century, that many of the conclusions which 
then seemed rational and well-established, must 
now be either reconsidered, or counted obso- 
lete. Then, she was in a manner home-bred, 
and when she went abroad, it was compara- 



THE AMENITIES. 319 

tively with the pace of a tortoise. She sate in 
the evening, by the hght of a tallow-candle, 
and read standard old books, and remembered 
what was in them, and who wTote them. 

Now, she is in haste, and can admit but few 
lasting impressions. She rides on the steam, 
and talks by lightning. She reveals new agen- 
cies that bewilder her children, and astonish 
herself Like the mystic form of the Apoca- 
lypse, she '' is clothed with the sun, and hath 
the moon under her feet." Her " stones are 
the place of sapphires, and she hath dust of 
gold." 

So many new elements, or unknown combi- 
nations, have been, or are being discovered, in 
this our planet, that a common, old-fashioned 
person could scarcely be more at a loss, on the 
ring of Saturn, or among the belts of Jupiter. 
It is no wonder that those who founded con- 
clusions on ancient premises, should be at 
fault, where there is no precedent. The great 
principles of right and wrong, must, indeed, 
ever remain the same ; but the rapid movement, 



320 PAST MERIDIAN. 

and transmutation of passing rejects, confuse 
the old modes of reasoning. 

We, therefore, of the ancient regime, should 
forbear strongly to press preconceived opinions, 
and should form new ones with peculiar mod- 
esty. For we are not certain of what we once 
supposed was well understood, and must con- 
sole ourselves with the assertion of Bacon, that 
" he is the wisest man, who is the most suscep- 
tible of alteration." Still, we will not embark 
on a sea of doubt, but regard with leniency 
our fellow-voyagers, as they steer their various 
courses, over time's troubled billows, — as we 
hope, toward the same great haven of rest. 

Such amenities mingling with our religious 
belief, would repel bigotry. That we should 
be attached to the form of faith that has long 
sustained and solaced us, is natural and com- 
mendable. But if there has been ever a peri- 
od in which we were inclined to think that " we 
alone were the people, and wisdom must die 
with us," it is time to dismiss thr assumption. 
For among the many good lessons that age has 
taught us, should be toleration and humility. 



THE AMENITIES. 821 

Through muc|. discipUne and many sorrows, 
it instructs us lat true religion is not a wall to 
shut out our 1 How beings, nor a balance in 
which to weigii grains of doctrine, nor a rack 
on which to stretch varying opinions, nor a jav- 
elin to launch at different complexions of faith, 
but " peace, and love, and good-will to men." 
It should have enabled us to make progress in 
the last and highest grace, benignant and saintly 
charity. 

Faith has been our teacher, ever since we 
first lisped, with childish utterance, '' in the be- 
ginning was the Word, and the Word was with 
God, and the Word was God." Hope, as far 
as she draws nutriment from earth, can have 
little more for the aged, either in vision or frui- 
tion. But Charity, our last, most patient teach- 
er, will ever find some beautiful precept, some 
holy exercise, till '' this mortal shall put on 
immortality." 

Yet though age should soften all hostilities 
of opinion, as the setting sun softens the land- 
scape, there are occasionally some minds of 
antagonistic character, whose controversial 



822 PAST MERIDIAN. 

tastes gather strength. With them, the beau- 
titude which the gospel promises to peace-ma- 
kers, is overshadowed by the ambition of con- 
trolUng the opinions of others. Such ideas 
harmonize rather with the pohcy of an Israel- 
itish usurper, than of the meek and lowly Re- 
deemer. " Is it peace, Jehu ? What hast thou 
to do with peace ? Turn thee, hehind mer 

But how often is the disposition and power 
of guiding others, associated with the most emi- 
nent liberality and love. Hear the noble suf- 
frage of John Wesley, when advanced years 
had fully matured his piety. 

'' My soul loathes the frothy food of conten- 
ding opinions. Give me solid, substantial reli- 
gion. Give me a humble lover of God, and of 
man, full of mercy and good fruits, laying himself 
out in works of faith, in the patience of hope, 
and the labor of love. My soul shall be with 
such Christians, wheresoever they are, and 
whatsoever doctrines they may hold." 

Bishop Stillingfleet asks: "Cannot good 
men differ about some things, and yet be good 
still? Yes. Cannot such love one another 



THE AMENITIES. 323 

notwithstanding such difference? No doubt 
they ought. Whence comes it then that a small 
difference in opinion is so apt to make a breach 
in affection ? In plain truth it is — every one 
would he thought to he infallihle ; and they have 
so good an opinion of themselves as to make 
their notions and practices a rule for the world. 
Hence arise disputes and ill-language not be- 
coming men or Christians. And if others have 
the same opinion of themselves, there must be 
everlasting clashings, and thence falling into 
parties and factions ; which cannot be prevent- 
ed till they come to more reasonable opinions 
of themselves, and more charitable and kind 
feelings towards others." 

Sir George Mackenzie says, " Bigotry is a 
laying of too much stress upon a circumstantial 
point of religion, and making other essential 
duty subordinate thereto. It obtrudes upon us 
things of no moment, as matters of the great- 
est importance. As it would be a great defect 
in a man's sense to take a star for the sun, so 
it is a much greater error in a Christian to pre- 



324 PAST MERIDIAN. 

fer, or even to equal, a mere circumstance to 
the vital points of religion." 

"Men who think, will differ,'' writes the 
learned Dr. Priestly, " but true Christians will 
ever be candid." 

" I do not wish," said Rowland Hill, with his 
characteristic pleasantry, '' the walls of separa- 
tion between different orders of Christians de- 
stroyed, but only a little lowered, that we may 
shake hands over them." 

" The nearer we approximate to universal 
love," said the large-minded, large-hearted Rob- 
ert Hall, '' the higher we ascend in the scale 
of Christian excellence." 

The venerable President Nott, thus counsels 
a class of his students about to enter the min- 
istry. '^ Let religious controversy alone. Let 
heresy alone. Preach the pure Gospel. That 
will be your best defence against all error." 

We blame the folly of the Egyptian Queen, 
yet overlook their greater madness, who dissolve 
in the sharp acid of contention, the priceless 
pearl of charity, the soul's chief wealth, and 
casting away the substance for the symbol, 



THE AMENITIES. 325 

venture to stand in their reckless poverty before 
a Judge who requireth love, and the deeds of 
love, as a test of l^jaltj, and a shield from wrath. 
In His dread presence, we must all appear, and 
appeal only as sinners, having '^ left undone 
the things that we ought to have done, and done 
the thing's that we ouorht not to have done." 
From this parity of condition should spring 
brotherhood of feeling. Hand in hand let us 
kneel before the throne of the Pardoner. 

A simple, significant incident was once rela- 
ted in the discourse of a Scottish divine. 

Two cottagers, dwelling under the same roof, 
became alienated. It so happened that both 
were employed at the same time in thatch- 
ing their tenement. Each heard the sound of 
the other's hammer, and saw the progress of his 
work, yet took no friendly notice. 

But at length, as they approached nearer, 
they looked in each other's face and chanced to 
smile. That smile was a messenger from heav- 
en With it, came the thought how much bet- 
ter it would be for those who dwell under one 
roof, to be at peace in their hearts. 

28 



326 PAST MERIDIAN. 

Then they shook hands. They said, '' Let 
us he friendsj'' and a new, great happiness be- 
came theirs. * 

Are we not, all of us, dwellers under God's 
roof, and as Christians engaged in the same 
work ? Is not the silent lapse of years bring- 
ing us nearer and nearer toward each other ? 
Let us then press on in love, until ^y His grace, 
our thatching well done, we meet on the top at 
last, and learn the joy of angels. 



CHAPTER XVII 



*' And when the tinting of the Autumn leaves 
Had faded from its glory, — we have sat 
By the good fires of winter, and rejoiced 
Over the fulness of the gathered sheaf" 

Willis. 

What a singular subject ! The pleasures of 
winter. And what may they be ? Some, with 
whom the imagery of frost and snow pre- 
dominates, will be ready to say that it has 
none. 

Surely it has been the most ill-treated sea- 
son, decried by almost every one that could 
wield a pen or weave a couplet. The poets 
have been in league against it from time imme- 



/ 

328 PAST MERIDIAN. 

morial. Still it has some very respectable, shall 
I say desirable characteristics ? It has not the 
fickleness of spring, whose blossoms so soon 
fall, nor the enervating influence of summer, 
when the strong men bow themselves, nor the 
imperious exactions of autumn, when the in- 
gathering is a weariness, and may be a disap- 
pointment. 

Do not speak with too much scorn of a win- 
try landscape. The wreaths of smoke rising 
high into the clear blue skies, the pure, white 
covering under which nature reposes, the spark- 
ling of the sinuous streams, where the grace- 
ful skaters glide, the groups of children, gath- 
ering rosier cheeks and merrier spirits from 
the heightened oxygen of the atmosphere, give 
to a winter morning in our sunny latitude, 
cheering excitement. 

Did you ever chance to look upon the glori- 
ous Niagara in the garniture of winter ? And 
did not its solemn, solitary majesty, impress 
you more deeply, than when the green, waving 
woods, and the busy, gazing throngs, divided 
the absorbing sentiment? 



THE PLEASURES OF WINTER. 329 

Is not the wintry eve sweet, with its warm 
fires and bright lights, when families gather in 
a closer circle, and better love each other? 
Heart springs to heart, with fewer obstacles 
than in the more discursive seasons, when the 
foot is tempted to roam and the eye to wander. 
The baby crows louder after its father because 
it can sit longer on his knee. The youth has 
a lengthened tale for his lady-love, and the 
storm passes by unheard. Pleasant talk, and 
sweet song, and loud reading, vary the scene 
of household delights. Added cheerfulness 
and love are among the treasures of the wintry 
evening-. 

Shall we not avail ourselves of these hints, 
when the winter of life comes ? Shall we not 
light up the cheerful lamp, and put more fuel 
on the flame in our cold hearts ? They need 
not go out, though some are gone who were 
wont to feed them with fresh oil. We will 
keep love to our race, alive, till the last. Let 
its embers throw their warmth even into the 
dark valley. Yes, we will carry those embers 



28* 



330 PAST MERIDIAN. 

with us, and relight them where they can never 
wane or expire. 

The young are said to love winter. Let 
us strive to make them love us, when we be- 
come the personification of winter. We will 
redouble our oflaces of kindness, and our pow- 
ers of entertainment, and see if we cannot 
melt the ice that has collected between us. 

^' Young men," says Lord Bacon, " are to be 
happy by hope, and the old by memory." Yes, 
with us, are the pictures of the past, the winter 
gallery, whose landscapes fade not and whose 
fountains still freshly murmur. Memory! she 
who hath sifted and winnowed the harvest of 
life, that she may know the true wheat. Mem- 
ory, who hath stood by us when Hope and 
Love have so often rung the death-knell, and 
forsaken us, — may we be happy through her ? 
The Lord be thanked if it is so. If, in look- 
ing back on all the way wherein He hath led 
us, she presents a predominance of correct mo- 
tive, of earnest obedience, of forgiven sin, let 
us strike that key-tone of praise which shall 
re-echo through eternity. Many treasured 



THE PLEASURES OF WINTER. 831 

things have indeed eluded our grasp, and faded 
from our sight. Yet countless blessings remain. 
" Was Job miserable," says Chrysostom, '' when 
he had lost all that God had given him ? No, 
for had he not still that God, who gave him all ? " 
Among the prominent joys of life's winter, 
are those of faith ; a nearness, and shadowing 
forth of things unseen. It was at a festal gath- 
ering of the old and young, that the question 
was once proposed, — which season of human 
life was the happiest. It was freely discussed, 
with varying opinions. Then the guests deci- 
ded that their host, a man of fourscore, should 
be the umpire. Pointing to a neighboring grove, 
he replied, "When vernal airs call forth the 
first buds, and yonder trees are covered with 
blossoms, I think how beautiful is spring. 
When summer clothes them with rich foliage, 
and birds sing among the branches, I say how 
beautiful is summer. When they are loaded 
with fruit, or bright with the hues of early frost, 
I feel how beautiful is autumn. But in sere 
winter, when there are neither verdure or fruit, 



832 PAST MERIDIAN". 

I look through the leafless boughs as I could 
never do before, and see the stars shine.'" 

Stars of our God ! beam more brightly into 
our souls, through this wintry atmosphere. 
For our home is near. And notwithstanding 
the Great Philosopher hath said that the old can 
be happy only through memory, we will be hap- 
py through hope also ; yea, through that hope 
which hath no mixture of earth, the ''hope that 
maketh not ashamed, and which is as an an- 
chor to the soul." 



CHAPTEK XVIII. 



" Oh soldier of the Cross, away with dreams ! 
Bright on thy brow, eternal glory streams, 
In faith, in love, in wisdom's steadfast mind, 
Arise and leave this moonlight camp behind." 

Bishop Burgess. 

If it is wrong to disparage the season of age, 
which so few reach, over the hidden pit-falls of 
time, it is unwise to regard only with reluctance 
and terror, the transition to another life. To 
depart from this world, is as necessary to the 
completion of our pilgrimage as to have enter- 
ed it ; a point of existence not to be evaded, a 
consummation of what was here begun. 

Do we not bear within ourselves, the essen- 



334 PAST MERIDIAN. 

tial argument and proof of future existence ? 
Even a heathen shall beautifully answer this 
question, the clear-minded Xenophon. "When 
I consider the boundless activity of our minds, 
the remembrance we have of things past, our 
foresight of what is to come, when I reflect on 
the noble discoveries and improvements that 
those minds have achieved, I am persuaded, 
and out of all doubt, that a nature which hath 
in itself such excellent things cannot possibly 
be mortal." 

Is not this brief life so fitted and adjusted to 
another, as to form but one existence ? Like 
apartments in a well-arranged mansion, they 
harmonize and are in symmetry. May we not 
pass from one to the other, with confidence in 
the Builder and Master of the Mansion? If 
the passage be dark, is there not a lamp at each 
extremity, placed there by His hand who '' hath 
conquered Death, and brought life and immor- 
tality to light through the Gospel ?" 

A pious man drawing near his last hour, 
said to me, " That other world is as clear, and 
as near, as the entrance into the next room." 



A NEW EXISTENCE. 335 

Raising his emaciated hand, with a great bright- 
ness in his eye, he added, " I had rather enter 
that next room than to remain longer here, for 
in that pleasant room are more of my friends 
than in this." 

'' Whij are ?ve spared so long ?" is sometimes 
the half-murmuring question of the aged, for 
whom the novelties of life are extinguished. 

The remark is an implication of unerring 
wisdom. As long as breath is lent, there will 
be some duty to perform, some enjoyment to 
partake, some right word to be spoken, some 
prayer to be sent upward, some point of Chris- 
tian example to be made complete. It would 
be well to bear in our hearts the motto of a 
poet, 

^^ How well is OUTS : — ?iow long, permit to Heaven." 

Were our fears and anxieties less devoted to 
the circumstance of leaving this life, than to 
the danger of failing in those duties on which 
the welfare of a future one depends, it were 
better for us now and ever after. 

The messenger who is appointed to summon 



336 PAST MERIDIAN. 

US to a new existence, is often arrayed with 
imaginary terrors, and represented as the foe 
of our race. A quaint writer has recommen- 
ded that we should '' keep on good terms with 
Death." It would be indeed wise to make him 
our friend, to speak no ill of him, to be ready 
for him, and to meet him without fear. 

'' I am dying," said Washington, when a 
sharp sickness of twenty-four hours cut off his 
span of sixty-seven years, " but I am not afraid 
to die." Sometimes a new and strange cour- 
age comes to the Christian with death, though 
he might '' all his lifetime have been subject 
to bondage." The diffident, who shrank ever 
from his fellow-man, has been heard to open 
his mouth boldly, and speak beautiful things of 
the world to come. To the weak-spirited and 
oppressed, he appears as a deliverer. Tyranny 
hath power no more. The fears and hopes 
that were born in dust, and dwelt there, fade 
away. The eye that grows dim to these lower 
skies, kindles with the "glorious liberty of the 
children of God." As the last breath ebbed 
away, a saintly woman whispered, with a smile 



A NEW EXISTENCE. 337 

never to be forgotten. ^' God's happiness ! — 
God's happiness r 

Friends ! brethren and sisters, already far 
advanced on the journey to another Hfe, who 

" Nightly pitch the moving tent 
A day's march nearer home," 

are we afraid ? Why should we be ? Who 
provided for us, before we entered this state of 
probation ? Whose eye " saw our substance 
yet being imperfect ?" Who took care of us 
when we knew Him not ? Will He forget us 
now that we are His servants ? 

Sometimes the faith of the unlearned and 
simple, reproves those whom the v^orld accoun- 
teth wise. A poor Indian woman of great age 
dwelt on the far banks of the Mississippi. Her 
people, who always reverence the hoary head, 
spoke of her as an oracle, and a traveler from 
one of our Eastern States, was thus led by cu- 
riosity to pay her a visit. The way was lonely, 
and the noon-day sun sultry, ere he reached 
the spot which had been indicated as her dwel- 
ling. Seated alone on a fallen tree, in the shade 

29 



838 PAST MERIDIAN. 

of her wigwam, with arms folded, and head 
drooping upon her bosom, he found the object 
of his search. Withered were her features, as 
the dead trunk upon which she rested, and with 
the taciturnity of her race, she returned his 
greeting, and rephed to his questions only in 
monosyllables. At length he repeated the in- 
terrogatory of Egypt's monarch, to the pa- 
triarch — 

*' How old art thou?" 

" I don't know. Some of my people say, one hundred and 
twenty years. Everybody that I knew when I was young, have 
been long dead." 

*' Are you afraid to die ?" 

This seemed a talismanic question. Her in- 
difference of manner fled. Light came to her 
dim eye. Raising its downcast glance, she ut- 
tered with an animation that changed her whole 
aspect, the simplicity and clearness of her faith. 

" Afraid to die ? M ! Why should I be afraid ? The Great 
Spirit has been good to me. He has taken care of me all my 
life. He has kept me from harm through many dangers and 
troubles. He opens the hearts of the people to be good to me, 
so that though I am too old and feeble to make provision for my- 



A NEW EXISTENCE. 339 

self, they let me want for nothing. I know not when He will 
take me, but wherever it may be, I am willing to go, when he 
calls." 

The brightness faded from her eye as she 
ceased to speak, and relapsing into her habitual 
calmness, the aged woman seemed as immove- 
able as the trees that surrounded her. But as 
the traveler wended his way back through the 
pathless forest, her words followed him as a 
strong, strange melody. " Afraid to die? No ! 
Wherever it may be, I am willing to go, when 
he calls." 

To loosen the bonds of affection, and depart 
from those who are most dear, needs the exer- 
cise of an implicit trust. If there are any in 
that circle, whose helplessness or absorbing 
love render them apparently dependent on us 
for protection or happiness, let us endeavor se- 
renely to leave them on the Everlasting Arm. 

A statesman, during a disastrous period in the 
civil wars of England, being appointed to a for- 
eign embassy, was listening to the violent tu- 
mult of a stormy sea, the night before his em- 
barkation, and reflecting on the perilous condi- 



340 PAST MERIDIAN. 

tion of his native land, until his troubled mind 
forbade sleep. A confidential servant who ac- 
companied him, perceiving his distress, said, 

'' Sir, do you not think that God governed 
the world well, before you came into it ?" 

'' Undoubtedly." 

'' Sir, do you not think He will govern it as 
well, when you are gone out of it ?" 

" Certainly." 

" Sir, pray excuse me, but do you not think 
that you may trust Him to govern it quite as 
well, while you do live ?" 

The reproof overcame his perturbation, who 
was about to undertake a tempestuous voyage, 
burdened with heavy cares. Its spirit might 
instruct us. For those, whom we contemplate 
leaving with such anxiety, we might be power- 
less to protect if we remained behind. The 
calamities of life would overtake them. Sick- 
ness would smite them, and sorrow find a pas- 
sage to their hearts, and we could not shield 
them. We could not " deliver our darling from 
the lion." We would, therefore, confidently trust 
them and ourselves to an Almighty Hand, and 



A NEW EXISTENCE. 841 

filled wth holy faith, respond to the words of a 
powerful writer, " We have nothing to do with 
death but to defy it, to lift up our heads and 
look above it. He is but the mere loosener of 
the cords that moor us to the shores of time, 
the dissolver of the cement that attaches to the 
things that perish in the using. What we have 
to do with it, is to despise it ; not to prepare to 
meet it, but to prepare to meet our God." 

Nature might herself instruct us, by the calm 
aspect with which she meets her own changes. 

"How quiet shows the woodland scene ! 

Each flower and tree, its duty done, 
Reposing in decay serene, 

Like holy men when age is won, 
Such calm old age, as conscience pure 
And self-commanding hearts ensure, 
Waiting the summons of the sky, 
Content to live and not afraid to die." 

Content, and not afraid. That is a blessed 
Christian motto. Yet we would add still more. 
Should we not be happy to pass into whatever 
state of existence God shall designate ? Look 
at the bird. It hath gathered neither into store- 

29* 



342 PAST MERIDIAN. 

house or barn. Its food hath been from the 
garner of the broad, green earth, and its hfe a 
music-strain. The blasts of autumn come. Its 
empty nest trembles amid the leafless boughs. 
It must speed its way to another clime. 

Does it linger ? Does it doubt ? Nay, it 
spreads an unreluctant wing into the trackless 
ether. 

So go thou forth, O Soul ! It is God's uni- 
verse. Thou canst not pass beyond His juris- 
diction. His grace is sufficient for thee. 

Living, or dying, w^e would obey the eloquent 
injunction of the prophet, to " seek Him who 
maketh the seven stars and Orion, and turneth 
the shadow of death into the morning." Let 
us bring our will into conformity with His will, 
and catch the spirit of the last prayer of Bish- 
op Jewel, 

" Lord, now let thy servant depart in peace. 
Lord, suffer thy servant to come unto Thee. 
Lord receive my spirit. 

" I have not so lived, as to be ashamed of 
having lived ; neither do I fear death, for God 



A NEW EXISTENCE. 343 

is merciful. Father, Thy will be done. Thy 
will, I say, and not mine. 

'' Lo, this is my day. To-day shall I quick- 
ly come mito Thee. This day shall I see my 
Lord Jesus — Thou, O Lord, who hast been my 
only hope." 

But in w^hat attitude shall we stand, and how 
shall we occupy ourselves, when the time and 
strength for active service have past away ? 
The answer is. Wait. 

The waiting graces are beautiful. They im- 
ply readiness. We can not quietly aw^ait any 
great event for which we are unprepared. Let 
us have oil in our lamps, and cherish every gen- 
tle and holy affection. 

Wait! It is an honorable service. An an- 
cient warrior put on his armor and braced him- 
self upright when the footstep of death stole 
upon him. '' I have never turned my back on 
any foe, while I lived," said he, '' and I will 
look the last one in the face." 

Wait bravely, therefore, in Christian armor, 
the opening of that gate which leads to a higher 
existence. Wait, with a smile, the ministry of 



S4A PAST MERIDIAN. 

the last messenger. Ask not when he cometh, 
or where, or in what manner. Stipulate noth- 
ing. Poor pensioner on God's- free mercy, ques- 
tion not, distrust not. His time is the best 
time. 

When it shall come may we have grace to 
let the frail tent of this body calmly fall, and 
putting our hand into the pierced hand of a 
Redeemer, with a song of praise go forth to 
" the house not made with hands, eternal in the 
heavens." 



3i|.77-9 



